Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains
by AlfheimWanderer
Summary: The Quidditch World Cup, the TriWizard Tournament, the Wizarding Schools Potions Championships. Three of the greatest sporting events in the Wizarding World are set to happen in the space of a year. Yet, while most look forward to these displays of skill and passion, a storm is brewing in the East, and Matou Shinji and his comrades must soon face the terrible specter of total war.
1. Overlooking View

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 1** **.** _Overlooking View_

As he stood in one of the waiting rooms of the Mifune City Medical Center, looking through the window at the city beneath him, Matou Shinji was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he didn't much like hospitals, though the reasons weren't quite what one might expect. It certainly wasn't the smells of death and decay and medicine lingering in the air – while unpleasant for most, they reminded Shinji of the home he'd grown up in. Nor was it the background chatter of the medical staff, their language sterile and cold as they discussed the conditions of their patients, the state of the world, or what they would do after their shifts.

It was the sense of pain and desperation hidden behind the eyes of the patients he passed by – as well as the fear and helplessness of families and friends who visited them. The way patients would stiffen each time a doctor approached their rooms, and relaxed as the physician walked on. The utter lack of control most had over their lives while they were in the hospital…and worse, their resignation to it.

For all those things reminded Matou Shinji of how and what he used to be: a powerless corpse just pretending to be alive, doing his best to deny the fact that he was already dead. He'd studied the family arts, thrown himself into mastering the theory with a zeal that bordered on madness, desperately hoping that if he pushed himself hard enough, worked long enough, he might achieve a breakthrough.

Might be accepted by his family. Might _become the Matou heir_ , despite his lack of magic circuits.

And then one day, he'd discovered the truth. The truth that his… _sister_ , the outsider he had grudgingly come to accept as part of his family after she'd been cast out by hers, had been adopted by the Matous not out of _pity,_ but pragmatism. That the girl the Tohsaka had thrown away was to be his r _eplacement_ , and that Matou Byakuya, the worthless man who had dared to call himself his _father_ , had known this all along.

 _That man_ had given him false hope, only to turn his back on Matou Shinji when the truth was revealed, without so much as a hint of remorse or sympathy. In retrospect, it was obvious to the boy that _that man_ had never truly cared about him. The few moments _that man_ had spent with him had undoubtedly been a chore, a pretense that Matou Byakuya couldn't wait to discard, for in _that man's_ eye, Matou Shinji meant _nothing_.

' _If it wasn't for my…_ sister…'

No, that was wrong.

It was tempting to say that his… _sister_ had taken everything from him. Tempting…but inaccurate, because it implied that Matou Shinji had had anything to lose in the first place, anyone to lose. That he hadn't been considered _worthless_ to everyone around him to begin with.

It was more accurate to say that the outsider had shown him the truth – and for that he'd hated her, hated her more than anyone – or anything – else in the world.

' _If I hadn't gotten a letter from Hogwarts all those years ago, if I hadn't found something to give my life meaning, something – someone – to live for…'_

…who knew what kind of monster he would have become?

Those 'what ifs' weren't things Matou Shinji particularly cared to think about, but they'd been on his mind quite a bit in the past few days, since he'd learned of _that man's_ passing.

' _Why did the letter have to come the day after Tanabata…?'_

Less a letter than a brief note, laying out the facts of Matou Byakuya's death – and that a funeral had been scheduled for the late so-called 'Head of the Matou Family' on July 16th, less than a week from now. Before that though…

"Something on your mind, Matou?"

…a voice interrupted his reverie.

"Was it that obvious, Fujou?" Shinji asked dryly, turning from the window to regard the kimono-clad boy that he'd once known as Emiya Shirou.

Of course, that had been before the other boy had been made aware that before the Fourth Fuyuki Grail War – and the fire that destroyed his memories, he had been a member of the Fujou clan, an ancient lineage of Japanese magi specializing in shamanism.

And that in fact, aside from his elder sister, who had been hospitalized for years, Fujou Shiroe, as he had been born, was the _last_ member of the main family – and thus its rightful head.

"You _were_ looking off into the distance," the Fujou magus said quietly, regarding the boy he called a friend, after a fashion. "Something interesting out there, Matou?"

"No, just needed to focus on something else for a moment," Shinji replied, keeping his expression as impassive as he could. It wouldn't do for his companion to know he was ill at ease, after all. "Since you're back, I take it your sister is ready to see us now."

"Uhm…yes," Shiroe answered, his smile seeming a little sheepish. "Sorry about that. The nurses were helping her bathe earlier, it seems."

"Ah." Shinji took a deep breath. "How long has she been here? In the hospital, I mean."

"Years," the Fujou head answered distantly. "Since before…before the Fuyuki fire. The fire itself was…a nightmare, but I can't imagine what that must have been like to think your family was all dead. I wasn't alone in Fuyuki when that happened. My…"

…parents, the boy who had once been Emiya Shirou wanted to say. He didn't, though, because he didn't actually remember them, and he thought that to call them that might be setting aside the man he considered his father.

Emiya Kiritsugu, the Magus Killer. One of the Masters in the Fourth Fuyuki Grail War.

The man who had rescued him from the flames, when he had lost all hope of survival, who had adopted him as his own.

"…so I heard from Kaiduka-san," Shinji noted softly. "It's good that you survived, Fujou."

"Only because I was saved," Shiroe replied, shaking his head. "The only one saved, in the end. Even if the means Dad found to do it has a price."

"A price?" Shinji asked sharply, his thoughts going back to a comment he'd heard about his companion about a year and a half ago. "This has something to do with what Kaiduka mentioned when you first met him, doesn't it?"

What the Matou scion referred to was, of course, the five-tailed fox's comment about Emiya Shirou – Fujou Shiroe's elemental affinity shifting from metal to something _else_ due to something within him. Something powerful. Something of the west.

' _An artifact of some kind, maybe?'_

Fujou Shiroe hesitated for only a moment, but it was enough for Shinji to draw his own conclusions.

"Let's talk about that a bit later, alright, Matou?" the Fujou head said quietly. "Admittedly that _was_ part of why I asked you to come with me today, even though I know how busy you are with your other obligations, but…it wasn't the whole of it."

"Oh?" Matou Shinji was intrigued, though also a little puzzled. Even when they'd both lived in Fuyuki, he and Emiya Shirou – as the boy had been called then – had never been particularly close. Neither had that changed with them both in _Mahoutokoro,_ as each had their own duties to attend to, and masters that they served.

"I never did thank you," Fujou Shiroe noted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Without you, I wouldn't be on the path I am now. I wouldn't have a teacher. I wouldn't have a _family_." The boy shook his head. "You've met Kohaku by now—"

"—hard not to when your cousin spends a lot of time around you," Shinji interjected with a wry smile, remembering that as he'd seen the boy with his distant cousin at Tanabata. "Or when she works closely with Sajyou-san."

"But you haven't met my sister," the redheaded boy continued, as if the Matou scion hadn't made his comment at all. "And if you don't meet her now…I'm not sure you'll ever get the chance."

Shinji stiffened as he heard this, levity fading from his face as he regarded his companion.

"That bad?" he asked. He'd wondered of course, since the girl had been hospitalized for so long, but there was a part of him that thought…

"Yeah," Shiroe answered quietly. "That bad."

"…I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault, Matou. It's just how things are. Even if…" Shiroe's voice trailed off as he swallowed, closing his eyes. "Even if I wish more than anything else in the world that I could save her. Somehow."

* * *

Pain.

For Fujou Kirie, that word defined the totality of her day to day existence. The physical pain of her slowly failing body, whose unnatural vitality only prolonged her suffering, the anguish of the mental tedium which ground on day after day after day in the years since she'd been admitted to Mifune City Medical Center years ago, the torture of seeing the vast world outside her window – a world without limits, a world without boundaries, a world where everyone moved freely – and knowing she'd never be able to return to it, that until the day she died, this sterile room would be all that she knew.

There were no plants in her room.

No flowers.

No fresh fruit.

Nothing from the outside world except the harsh light of the mid-day sun.

Occasionally a letter would arrive for her from Shiroe, but those were few and far between, and as much as their words were a comfort, they also hurt because of their formality – because of how different her brother was from how she remembered. When Matsuo-san had told her that her brother was alive, that he had _not_ died in a car accident in Fuyuki after all, Fujou Kirie had been overwhelmed by emotions she had thought she'd lost the capacity for: hope and joy.

For the first time in who knew how long, she'd broken down in tears at the thought that perhaps she might not be utterly alone, that someone who cared about her was still alive.

…and then Shiroe – who had called himself Emiya Shirou – had visited, along with a girl named Kohaku, whose mother had been born into one of the Fujou branch families by one of the previous heads for violating a taboo.

As kind as the two of them had been, as nice as they had seemed, the encounter had been…awkward. She had never met Kohaku – _Fujou Kohaku_ now, she supposed – and so the other girl treating her with the reserve and deference due a social superior was to be expected, but…Shiroe had acted the same way. Indeed, it had soon become clear to her that her _brother_ didn't remember her at all, that all the memories they'd shared growing up were gone.

That in all the ways that mattered, her brother – the boy she'd grown up with – _was_ dead, with this stranger taking his place and name.

When he and the branch family girl had left, Kirie had wept in the privacy of her room, cursing herself for having dared to hope things would be different, cursing Matsuo-san for giving her that hope, cursing the world which seemed to take a cruel amusement in tormenting her.

Had it not been enough that she lived in constant pain, pain that could never be completely treated, no matter what medications she was put on? Had it not been enough that her body was giving out, that slowly her sight, her hearing, and her other senses were beginning to fade? Had it not been enough to have only the view outside her window every day? A view of a world where people lived and laughed and smiled – a world that was unreachable to her?

Had it not been enough that she had finally come to terms with the fact that she was alone in the world without that false, futile hope Matsuo-san had given her?

In the days, weeks, months since, she'd reflected that the Maiden of the Tree probably hadn't intended to hurt her so – that Matsuo-san had only meant to give her something to look forward to, even if the other didn't fully understand. While they were both confined in a way, with the powerful shrine maiden unable to leave the City Under Earth, and herself unable to leave this hospital, the chains binding the other were those of choice and duty – not physical infirmity, with the Maiden having far more freedom than _she._

' _Even if I cannot imagine how she chooses to remain there, for the countless years she has been alive. She looks exactly the same now as when I met her over a decade ago…'_

Kirie had been just entering her teens – and the quite-healthy heiress to the Fujou family – when she'd met Matsuo-san. They hadn't spent much time together – perhaps about a week at most – but in that brief period, the older woman had felt like a sister to her, taking note of her talents and sharing with her some of the gifts she would one day come to inherit, filling her with a sense of wonder.

Helping to her to understand her family's past.

But after that meeting, Matsuo-san had not appeared to her at all– until the eve of the new year, when she'd informed Kirie that her brother Shiroe _lived_.

Fujou Kirie had no illusions about what would happen in the end.

It wasn't as if there was any hope she could be cured. Tumors had invaded much of her body, and the rest seemed to keep going only by strength of will sometimes.

A will that was slipping away, day by day, as she grew thinner and thinner, frailer and frailer. Her long, raven-colored hair was about the only thing about her that somehow refused to be affected by her long illness, or by the many treatments she'd had in her battle to prolong her life, and while sometimes it gave her a sense of pride, she also knew that coupled with the rest of her appearance, it made her seem like a _yurei –_ a ghost trapped in the world and unable to move on.

Sometimes, she thought the comparison fitting.

She was 24 already, yet her life had been frozen since she was only 17 – before she'd graduated from high school. Before she'd come into her inheritance as Fujou family head and master of its mysteries. Before she'd ever had the chance to love – or be loved.

The girl grimaced as she felt a stab of pain within her chest, closing her eyes and focusing on the simple act of breathing. _Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale._ Slowly, the pain passed, as it always did.

It was always worse after she was bathed, as if the moisture and the smell of antiseptic soap aggravated her ailment, almost more than just the act of sitting up.

But she'd gotten used to that too.

One could get used to almost everything in time, after all.

Even despair.

And then, in a break from the usual routine, someone knocked on the door.

"You have visitors, Fujou-san," the voice of one of the nurses announced, with the young woman turning from the window to see two youths shuffling into the room.

One was her brother, of course, but the other was a boy she'd never met before, one with hair so black it was almost blue in the light.

"Good afternoon, aneue," Shiroe greeted with a bow, not knowing that his formality hurt her more than anything else could. "How are you feeling today?"

"The same as always, Shiroe," she responded. "Who—"

But Fujou Kirie couldn't complete her query, as she broke into a fit of coughing that lasted for over a minute. Her brother hastily filled a cup of water and handed it to her, which she accepted with trembling hands as the coughing went on and on, until it finally stopped.

Bringing the cup to her lips, she took several long swallows of the lukewarm liquid, feeling the burning in her throat easing fractionally – enough for her to speak.

"Who is your…friend?" the woman asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.

The other boy bowed low.

"My name is Matou Shinji, Fujou-san," he spoke solemnly. "I knew your brother when he was in Fuyuki as an Emiya."

"Ah."

"He's the one who told me about my heritage," Fujou Shiroe added with a pained expression, glancing at his friend. "After my adopted father's death, he took me to Kyoto where I learned…where I learned who I was. Even if there is much I have forgotten."

Fujou Kirie blinked.

If by Kyoto, Shiroe meant…

"…you are a disciple of Matsuo-san, then," she said after a moment. Glancing over the boy, she was a bit confused, as he didn't seem to be from one of the four families – or even anyone very remarkable, at that. "I…am grateful."

The words didn't come easily to her, but she said them, nonetheless.

"Less a disciple than a simple student," Shinji corrected. "It is an honor to finally meet you, Fujou-san, since Shiroe has spoken so well of you."

"Shiroe…has?" Kirie repeated, her expression puzzled.

From how awkward and infrequent their visits were, she didn't think her brother would speak about her at all – much less, speak well of her.

"He isn't good with showing it, because he doesn't remember much before the fire," the Matou boy said quietly. "But he's happy to know he has family. To know that he had people who cared about him."

"I see," she noted, taking another swallow of water.

"Be patient with him," Shinji added. "Emiya's always been a little dense, so things may take some time."

Fujou Kirie smiled at how Shiroe's glance turned into a glare at his friend's comments, but it was a brittle smile indeed.

Time, after all, was the one thing she did not have.

"It is a pleasure, Matou Shinji."

* * *

On the night train back to Kyoto, given how far it was from Mifune City, Matou Shinji sat seiza-style on the second floor of a darkened compartment, watching the world go by in a blur outside the window, the lights of distant cities gleaming in the distance a testament to how mankind feared the dark and so built fires to scrape away at its edges.

Meeting Fujou Kirie, learning about his…friend's circumstances, and the rest had been interesting, if a little jarring in what it revealed about himself and how much he'd changed. After all, three years ago…

' _Three years ago I would have gladly traded places with her…'_

Would have happily given up his health, his freedom, his future, if it meant having power, if it meant being acknowledged as the heir of his family.

Things were different now, and he found himself sympathizing with the young woman who'd been confined to a single room in a hospital. With how in some ways – in every way that mattered, if he was honest – her situation was far worse than his had ever been.

After all, even though he'd been denied the Matou magecraft, and so had been considered unworthy of even the slightest bit of care by his family, he'd found friends, mentors, companions once he'd become a practitioner of witchcraft. People who respected him for who he was and what he _could_ do, as opposed to rejecting him for what he could not.

People like his Master or the Director of Atlas, neither of which he probably would have met had he actually become a magus.

' _The gifts I've received, the things I've done…what lies ahead, I wonder?'_

A quiet knocking down below jolted him from his thoughts, with the boy letting out a tired sigh.

"Enter," he called out, as the door slid open to reveal the pensive form of Fujou Shiroe, whose compartment he was sharing.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to eat, Matou?" the redhead called up quietly. "The dining car won't be open much longer."

"I'm sure, Fujou," Shinji replied, his voice barely audible. He hadn't even turned to look at his friend, his gaze still fixed on the world outside. "I'm not hungry."

"Sorry," Shiroe said after a moment. "Hey, Matou, did I do something wrong?"

"Why?" the Matou scion asked blandly.

"You've been in a bad mood since we left the hospital," the Fujou head answered. "I know you're busy, and that coming with me today took up a lot of your time, but—"

"—it's not that," Shinji interrupted. "And it's not you. I've just been…thinking."

"Thinking?"

"About what I used to be like, and how things might have been."

"Ah."

Silence reigned, as neither of the two knew what to say. It started as an uneasy pause, but slowly grew, with seconds turning into minutes, before Shinji spoke up.

"I am…honored you trusted me enough to let me visit your sister," he said slowly. "I'm probably the first person outside the family, aren't I?"

"You are," Shiroe admitted. "Since you're the reason I have a family again, I thought that if anyone should, well…"

"I appreciate that."

"I thought you might," the Fujou boy said as he walked over to the window on the ground floor. "I wasn't sure there'd be another chance, since…" He swallowed, his words failing him. "Since…"

"She's dying," Matou Shinji supplied, causing his companion to wince.

"…yes." The admission came out like a strangled gasp, as it wasn't something Fujou Shiroe wanted to think about. "I just lost Dad a year and a half ago. Just found out I had a sister. And now…? Am I going to lose my family all over again?"

"It's hard, isn't it?"

"…you have no idea," Shiroe whispered, biting his lip. "Yes, I have Kohaku, but that's not…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "When Dad died, he told me that he'd always wanted to become a hero. To save everyone. And while I might have saved Kohaku and her sister by rescinding their branch's banishment…"

"You feel guilty you can't save your sister."

To Fujou Shiroe, Shinji's words felt like the punch to the gut, as the boy utterly deflated.

"Yes," he admitted brokenly. "I wish there was something I could do. Anything. But…"

"Even healing has its limits," Matou Shinji noted, recalling a conversation he'd had with Sajyou-san on the matter. "And even if it didn't, your family arts don't exactly revolve around healing, do they?"

"Well…that's another thing," Shiroe said woodenly. "My affinity's changing because of…because of what Dad used to save me. If it continues beyond another week or two, I won't be able to learn the Fujou arts anymore. And Kohaku isn't…I don't think she'd do well as a family head."

"Won't she have to learn eventually, since you seem to be courting her?" Shinji asked slyly, causing the Fujou boy's cheeks to flame.

"It's not what it looks like," the Fujou head answered. "I just think it would be nice if she would smile. I mean _really_ smile, not put on the mask she always does. The one I think she must have worn around Makihisa."

"Oh."

"I think she wonders if I'm going to be like _him_. If she needs to protect Hisui from me."

"From _you?_ Emiya, that's the most ridiculous thing, I've ever…" But Shinji's words died on his lips as he turned to look at his friend and saw how pale and drawn the other boy was. "…you're not kidding, are you?"

"I wish I were, Matou. I wish I were." Fujou Shiroe's reply was almost a whisper. "I'm a lot less innocent than I used to be. And there are days I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing." The boy was silent again for a moment. "I want to do the right thing though," he said at last. "That's the real reason I asked you to come today. Because there's almost no time left, and I don't really trust anyone else enough to ask."

"You barely know _me_ , Fujou," Shinji cautioned.

"And you barely knew me, but you gave me my family back without asking anything for yourself," the head of the Fujou intoned quietly. "You could have, you know. Giving me my past, showing me a future – that's something I can't even begin to repay."

"I didn't do it for you, Fujou. I did it because I didn't want an old fox angry at me," the Matou scion admitted.

"…well, there's that, I guess," Shiroe grunted, the corners of his lips tugging up into a semblance of a smile. "But…Kaiduka told me that if my affinity finishes changing, I...I won't be a Fujou anymore. Not in the ways that matter. And if that happens…"

"This change…it's related to the item inside you, right?" Shinji asked.

"…it is."

"Can you take it out?" the Matou boy inquired.

"I…I think so, from what Kaiduka has implied," Fujou Shiroe answered. "But…"

"Then do so," Shinji said with finality. "Whatever it is, whatever you might gain can't be enough to justify losing everything. Again."

"…and what would I do with it then?" Shiroe asked. "What I have…it's not something I can leave laying around."

That was the other question on Shiroe's mind: once he removed Avalon from within him, what would he do with the holy sheath? Where could he put it that would be secure?

"Why don't you ask Kaiduka-san that question?" Shinji suggested. "He or Matsuo-san would probably be able to help once you make up your mind." Shinji chuckled. "Valuable, is it?"

"…you have no idea, Matou. The Einzbern…well, let's just say it was why Kiritsugu could save me. I've been holding onto it as a card to use against them if they came against me one day, but…" Shiroe sighed. "I'd trade it in an instant for a miracle to let me save my sister. Even if there's no miracle in the world that would come in time."

After all, the only thing he knew of which might allow him to cure Kirie was the Holy Grail, and even if he was willing to disable the bomb that was set to destroy the Greater Grail in time – which he wasn't, the war was decades away, and he didn't think his sister had decades left.

A few years perhaps.

Maybe even less.

"There might…" Shinji began, but cut himself off before he said anything that would betray himself.

"…there might?" Shiroe repeated, seizing on his companion's words. "There might what, Matou?"

"There _might_ be a way," the Matou scion admitted. "But…"

After all, Sion had given him a single dose of the Water of Life, a powerful elixir that could cure any injury or illness – even vampirism, a corruption of body and soul that went beyond any merely physical ailment. And if he did cure Fujou Kirie, no doubt he'd receive much favor from Kaiduka and Matsuo-san, not to mention the Fujou family as a whole. Still…

"But what, Matou?"

"I need to think about this, Fujou." This wasn't a decision he could make lightly, or nor something he could give an instant response to. "What you're asking – you know it has a price, right?"

"To save my sister, there's nothing I wouldn't give, Matou," Shiroe said quietly, though there was no doubt in Shinji's mind that the boy meant every word of it.

It had been something he had been thinking about, due to the funeral notice. Even if he didn't care about the man who had been his father, he had obligations to uphold as a Matou

"All I can say for the moment is to treasure what you have, Fujou," Shinji noted after a time. "You have a family that cares about you. You have a chance to hold onto your future, to use the life saved by Emiya Kiritsugu to save others and to do good. Don't throw it away over an item. No matter how valuable. If you can stop your affinity from shifting completely, do it, _Fujou._ "

"…you're right," the boy who had once been called Emiya Shirou sighed. "The moment I became a Fujou, the moment I let other people begin to depend on me, I gave up my choice, didn't I? Because I have a duty to my family."

"Yes…you do," Shinji replied distantly. In a way, this talk with Shiroe had helped him make up his mind about whether to go to the funeral. As a member of the Matou family, he had certain obligations he couldn't ignore, even if they'd never been much of a family to him. Matou Zouken had arranged for him to meet Aozaki Touko, after all, and had let him live, despite his failure. The least he could do was attend a funeral – even if it was that of a man he didn't care about whatsoever. "We both do."

"And what about…my sister?" Fujou Shiroe inquired. "Is there anything…?"

"Give me a week, Fujou," the Matou scion replied distantly. "I'll have an answer for you then."

For the rest of the ride back to Kyoto, Matou Shinji said no more.


	2. Darkness and Starlight

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 2** **.** _Darkness and Starlight_

The Boy-Who-Lived sat alone in the darkness of his cell, focusing on his breathing to the exclusion of all else. Now and then, other thoughts would bubble up – thoughts of the past, of the future, of how uncomfortable the stone floor was and how he missed being around his friends, but slowly, those thoughts would fade, and all that remained was the breath.

It had been almost a month since he'd talked to – since he'd so much as _seen_ – another human being. In the beginning, the loneliness and lack of distraction had been almost too much to bear, and he'd found his mind wandering to those he'd left behind, wishing he could be with them, could explore the foreign land of Japan with them, could be out and about. But all those wishes were for naught, and as he woke and slept to the same surroundings alone day after day, the rest of the world began to fall away.

Whatever was outside the cell did not matter.

To him, it might as well not even exist.

All that mattered – all that existed – was what was within the stone walls of his single room, within the flesh and blood of his body, within the nebulous boundaries of his mind.

Such was but the first step of the long and arduous process required for a wizard to become an Animagus. Few in the history of Britain – or Europe as a whole, really – bothered with it at all, given that being able to transform oneself into a specific animal at will, without the need for a wand, was nice in principle, but lacked much in the way of practical application.

After all, given that most of them lived in villages and hamlets, not in the wilds, and most also ended up employed by a Ministry doing paperwork, becoming an Animagus wasn't very useful for most people, since it wouldn't boost their employability – or their abilities in anything beyond transfiguration.

Even then, among schoolchildren, quite a few were interested, given the exotic nature of the skill, and the fact that many wished to transform into birds or other creatures that could fly. Except that this interest faded once they learned that one who sought to become an Animagus wouldn't – and couldn't – know what one might become until one finally transformed for the first time.

…and no one wanted to invest an entire summer hoping to become a powerful, majestic beast, only to end up as a guinea pig or a rat.

Plus, there was the not-so-minor consideration that without complete isolation and focus, it would be easy for the transformation to go horribly wrong, with a prospective Animagus either stuck permanently between forms, or failing to transform at all, losing their transfiguration abilities in the process.

Given all that, perhaps it wasn't such a surprise that in all of Britain, there had only been a total of seven registered Animagi during the 20th century – even if Harry knew that there had been a few _unregistered_ ones as well, those who had found an animal form a convenient disguise.

…including his father and those James Potter had called his companions.

For Harry though, becoming an Animagus wasn't about following in the footsteps of a father he'd never known. It wasn't about fame or concealment or wanting to show off.

For the Boy-Who-Lived, it was a matter of ruthless practicality.

After the incident with the Acromantulae and his defeat at the hands of Matou, Harry knew that he needed a skill that would allow him to remain competitive with his brothers-in-arms. Here in _Mahoutokoro,_ there were a few options available to him, including learning about more advanced _ofuda_ – and of course, tutelage in the Dark Arts from Tomas – but in the end, he'd decided on his present course.

There was no way he'd be able to catch up with – or surpass – Matou if he simply followed in the other boy's footsteps, after all. And somehow, he didn't think greater mastery of Dark Arts was the answer either, especially not in a Britain that still feared the memory of Lord Voldemort.

His only hope was to take a different course entirely, focusing on what would be most useful for his position as Stone Cutter and Hogwarts' Second for the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship. If, by some chance, Matou was incapacitated and Harry had to take the field on the ancient isle on which the competition was set, becoming an Animagus would give him the best edge.

After all, one of the little known things about Animagi was that beasts – magical and otherwise – did not generally bother to attack them when transformed, and that Animagi could in fact communicate with such beasts, in some cases even _commanding_ them to aid him.

And while each of his competitors might be individually stronger than he himself, it was the unseen knife which bit deepest, not necessarily the sharpest.

* * *

"Italy is…a strange place," Pansy remarked, feeling rather small as she looked out at the dome of St. Peter's Basilica from the window of a rather austere room just outside the walls of Vatican City.

The room – and the townhouse as a whole – belonged to one of Lockhart's friends, a woman he had addressed as _Rafiq_ – a name which didn't seem to match the young woman's appearance – who had graciously offered them lodging without the need for payment or asking questions. Though of course, the fact that the townhouse had a large empty room for "training" – and the fact that the woman looked to Lockhart as a mentor – left her with questions she suspected the Professor was not about to answer.

"Yes, it is indeed, Miss Parkinson," Gilderoy Lockhart agreed as he came through the door, carrying what seemed like a thick wand in his right hand, his formal Muggle attire of greys and blacks having been replaced with a set of robes. "This city especially, given its long history."

"Oh?" the girl asked, raising an eyebrow as she turned to her teacher. "What do you mean?"

"You know by know how Italy has no magical government, I believe – but did you ever wonder why this was so?" the adventurer inquired.

"…no, Professor," Pansy murmured. In truth, she really had no idea, except… "Is it perhaps related to the witch burnings in the fourteenth century?"

Lockhart's lips tightened as the assassin sighed.

"You could say that, Miss Parkinson," the man conceded. "I'm sure you have read about how our kind made attempts to burn us at the stake ineffective with the Flame-Freezing Charm, but those clumsy efforts were merely the tip of the iceberg."

"…what's an iceberg?" the Slytherin girl asked, tilting her head in confusion as she tried to puzzle out what it could mean. She'd never heard the word before, after all.

Lockhart just chuckled.

"An iceberg, Miss Parkinson, is a large piece of ice that has broken free of a glacier and floats freely in the ocean," the man explained. "Most of the ice is hidden underwater, with only a small bit exposed."

"So by tip of the iceberg, you mean…"

"That it is only a very small part of a much larger context."

"Ah," Pansy said, understanding now. "Um, but what's a glacier…? Something to do with ice, given _Glacius?_ "

"Very good, Miss Parkinson," the Assassin noted. "A glacier is a rather large body of ice that forms over land over many, many years, with snow building up and compressing itself into ice. You'll see enough of them when you go to Durmstrang this fall."

"I see," the girl said.

"Back to the issue of magical governments and Rome, however, is a bit of history that is not mentioned in any of your history books," the Assassin continued. "A bit that the continental histories as a whole fail to mention, for that matter."

"…what could that be?"

"War, Miss Parkinson. A terrible conflict which lasted centuries, ravaging our kind. _That_ is the true reason for the Statute of Secrecy."

"What."

Pansy Parkinson's voice was flat with shock. Whatever she'd expected to hear, it wasn't _that_. Besides, what power could possibly threaten wizarding society as a whole? Granted, Muggles were much more innovative and adaptive than she'd given them credit for, but from what Lockhart had said, centuries ago their capabilities had been far less…robust.

"Look outside the window," Lockhart all but commanded, with Pansy Parkinson turning to see the walls of Vatican City once more. "Do you know what that is?"

"A city within a city?" the girl hazarded.

"It is that. But is more. It is the Headquarters of the Church – which led the persecution of magical beings – and of an organization known as the _Templars_ ," the Assassin explained, his voice almost growling out the name of the organization which he was sworn to oppose. "You ask what could harm those who wield magic? The answer is simple: others who wield it."

"What? But why…?"

"They are different from us, Miss Parkinson. They are not wizards or muggles, but something else entirely. And to them, our kind are seen as heretics and abominations, as our powers do not derive from their beliefs or the power of their God." The Asssasin laughed, but it was a mirthless sound, one that sent a shiver down the Slytherin girl's spine. "And they sought to exterminate wizards."

"Why…?"

"Because our magic can 'infect' future generations," the man noted grimly. "It can be passed down from parent to child, if not always reliably. We are born from humans, and yet are not…pure in their eyes. Because of our magic, we are…filthy."

"…so it's like how some in Britain see Muggleborn, only worse?"

"Indeed," the man said, his lips curving into a thin smile. "The Church's Executors and the Templars worked to destroy anything they considered heretical or impure. And against their power and fanaticism, the wizards of Europe, scattered as they were, could not stand. We hid. We went to ground. We separated ourselves so that we would not be hunted, and _forgot,_ even as others took up the struggle in our stead."

Pansy's mouth was dry as she listened to everything her mentor told her, trying to imagine what the world he described – and failing, as it went against everything she knew.

Wizards…were indomitable, weren't they? That they could lose something of that magnitude…it…surely that was impossible…

"But if we…if wizards forgot," she said after a time, "then how do you know what happened?"

"Because some did not give up the fight," the man said, his voice quiet and sharp as a knife. "They fought with strange powers and abilities of their own, battling the Church and Templars to a standstill over centuries of bitter conflict. In time, the Church grew tired of fruitless battle and ceased its efforts at extermination, especially since they could no longer find us."

"…and the Templars?"

"…with them, there can be no peace, Miss Parkinson," the Assassin replied. "Not until every being on one side or the other is dead."

Their eyes met, with Pansy frozen by the sheer passion in the man's words. She'd suspected there were hidden depths to the Professor, more than were in his autobiographies, but this…

"You've fought them, haven't you?" the girl whispered, taking a step back. "The Templars."

"I have, Miss Parkinson," Lockhart acknowledged easily. "I have learned many things since my first adventure, when I discovered the truths of the world from a mentor of my own. I have grown in my power, until I can face magical beasts, Templars, and Dark Lords alike."

"…and why are you telling me this?"

Pansy Parkinson really had no idea. If the Professor really was so powerful, so skilled, so well-versed in the secret lore of the world, why reveal this to her?

"Because I think your mind is supple enough to understand the truth without breaking," the man replied. "You have ambition, Miss Parkinson. You have some degree of skill. And deep down, you already believe there is more to life than the world you were born into. At least, Matou said as much when he recommended you to me."

"Matou did…?"

"Indeed. He even paid for the dragonhide robe you have in your luggage," the man remarked. Which was all quite true, even if the robe had been meant for Lockhart as a _thank you_ for the design, as opposed for Pansy herself. "He was born into a family that knows the world of moonlight – the secret world in which I dwell. And he believes in you."

"This isn't just about being trained as an adventurer then…is it?" the girl asked quietly. "You wouldn't have told me all that you did otherwise."

"Correct, though the ultimate choice is yours."

There was something unspoken lingering about the man's words that had Pansy on edge. Choices always had consequences, she knew, so there had to be a consequence to refusal, right? There were only a very few things it could be, but she found that she didn't much care what it might – because she had no intention of refusing.

"Teach me then, Master," the girl said quietly, going down on one knee.

But the Assassin shook his head and bade the girl rise, which she did, questioningly.

"Mentor, Miss Parkinson, not Master," Lockhart corrected with a smile as he pressed an item into her hands. "We are both students of the truth, after all, even if I have walked further along the road than you have."

"As you wish, sir," Pansy replied, looking down at the cold tube that had been pressed her hands. "But what's this?"

"The next tool you will learn to use," the man answered. "One that should come in handy, given that Scandinavian and Russian wizards are trained in the use of staves, which are effective at both melee and magical attack, in addition to wands."

"Staves?" the Slytherin girl echoed. "But this isn't—"

"Give it a sharp flick," the man instructed, stepping back as the girl did so – and heat-treated metal telescoped outwards.

"This is…?"

"You would call it a collapsible baton, though this has been designed to lock together with a second like it," Lockhart noted, removing another such unit from his belt. He handed this to the girl as well, and watched as she fit the bottoms of the two together and twisted, locking them into one. "Flick again."

She did so, and the other side extended as well, locking into place with a smooth _click._

"A handy weapon, if less immediately threatening than a blade," the Assassin commented. "So far, you are familiar with the basic practices of dueling and Defense, but against some of the threats out there, magic alone is not enough."

"…so, like a troll, for instance," Pansy murmured, recalling the most recent _Kobayashi Maru_.

"Indeed, of which there are quite a few in the frozen north," Lockhart noted. "As well, consider the weather."

"The weather?"

"Yes, Miss Parkinson. Perhaps you think Hogwarts is cold in the winter? Well, at Durmstrang – and in Russia, it is far colder," the Assassin continued. "Hence they tend to wear more in the way of clothing enchanted to keep them comfortable and warm. And as they are already wearing such things, they see no reason not to layer on charms of protection. So incapacitating a Russian wizard may not be as simple as a British one."

"Why don't Aurors wear that sort of stuff then?" Pansy asked, curious as to the differences.

"Protective garments are expensive, Miss Parkinson," the man explained. "Besides, Britain's tactical doctrine is wand-focused, and designed for flexibility and mutual support. Historically, our main adversaries have been other wand users or beings who might be physically powerful, but do not have much magical ability. Thus we rely on mobility, with armor is more of a hassle than a necessity."

"Huh."

She'd never thought of it that way, never had any reason to think of it that way.

"What about _Mahoutokoro_?" the girl questioned, curious as to how Matou's homeland trained its Aurors – or the equivalent thereof. "And their… _ofuda_ , I think they were called?"

Lockhart chuckled.

"Ah yes, those do tend to be central to the Eastern schools," the Assassin noted. "They tend to focus on training elite units instead of simply using larger teams, which is made possible by the use of their _ofuda_ as a major force multiplier. As I understand it, _ofuda_ require preparation in advance, but can be stockpiled and deployed in massive numbers, allowing a prepared individual to overwhelm most who simply rely on wands."

"And you, Professor?" Pansy asked. "What do you prefer?"

"Ah, but _that_ would be telling. Let us simply begin with teaching you the basics of something I call the art of movement, the foundation to everything I have to teach. And of course, it guiding principle."

"Oh?"

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted."

* * *

As she opened her eyes, Tohsaka Rin felt as if she had had a run-in with a Heroic Spirit and barely lived to tell the tale. Her head, her back, her arms, her legs, her chest – there was no part of her that didn't hurt, and when she tried to move them, it felt as if they were made out of lead.

' _What…happened…?'_ she wondered, but she couldn't think clearly at all, not with her head throbbing and the world spinning all around her. _'Wh-wh-wh-where am I?'_

She couldn't remember.

She just knew she felt horrible. More horrible than she'd ever felt in her life, even when the family Crest was being implanted.

…the Crest that was incidentally the only reason she wasn't dead from alcohol poisoning, given that she'd downed an entire bottle of firewhiskey.

' _Water…water…'_

Despite the pain, and the haze covering her mind, she groped for something on the…table?...next to her, her hand closing on something hard and cylindrical.

' _Glass.'_

Without looking to see where it was, she brought it to her mouth, some of the liquid sloshing from the cup and spilling on her soiled top, with the rest going into her mouth – and burning as it went down her throat.

It wasn't water, but it made her feel marginally better, at least, since _mukae-zake_ , literally meaning "counter alcohol" or more colloquially, "hair of the dog" could help temporarily stave off the worst symptoms of a hangover.

Amusingly enough, the expression in English originally referred to a method of treating a rabid dog bite by placing hair from the dog in the bite wound to prevent evil consequences, though the earliest known reference in any language was for a hangover cure for a drunken god of Ugarit, a contemporary of the Assyrian Empire.

As her headache eased, Rin began to recognize where she was, and what she had done the night before. She was laying on the couch of one of Matou's sitting room, with an empty bottle of firewhiskey – and a second, half-empty one – sitting on the table next to her.

And she _reeked_ of alcohol.

She'd seen other magi drinking from time to time at the Tower, and had thought that maybe just a sip would help ease the worst of her frustrations with how things were going. She'd never tried alcohol before, and didn't really care for the taste, but she'd thought that if she could forget everything, just for a while…

That sip had turned into several sips, had turned into several glasses, until the first bottle was empty and she'd started on the second.

Lord El Melloi II – her sponsor – _hated_ her, wanted nothing to do with her, thought of her as "the worst Japanese." Other magi looked down on her since she was young and from the East, to boot. And even Matou, who had told her to believe in herself, that she was fine the way she was – well, he wasn't here, was he?

It had been months since she'd seen him, and in that time, she'd only had Mashu for company, with the strawberry blonde always being there for her, making her meals, cleaning up the house, and just being someone she could talk to – someone she could share her frustrations with – being there for her in this unfriendly, foreign land.

A sudden image from last night flashed into her head.

When she…she'd…

' _No…'_

…she'd reached up to the other girl, who was just trying to clean her up, and had given Mashu a drunken, sloppy kiss, a kiss that had tasted like…strawberries.

Her _first_ kiss.

And she'd whispered, or slurred, rather, as her cheeks had blushed a crimson red, "…I didn't know…I liked girls… _this_ much."

The other girl had stiffened at the unexpected attention, and had pulled away, leaving Tohsaka Rin laying on the couch, alone, with only the alcohol for company.

' _What have I done…?'_

But neither the half-empty bottle nor the empty room had no answers for her in the cold morning light.

* * *

And half a world away, Shinji came to a decision as he stood before Fujou Shiroe at the boy's chambers at _Mahoutokoro_.

"I've made up my mind, Fujou," the Matou scion said heavily.

"Yes, Matou?" Fujou Shiroe asked, nervous beyond words, as his golden eyes staring into Shinji's grey. "And what have you chosen?"

For the boy who had once been called Emiya Shirou, this was his last hope of possibly curing his sister, since there was nothing else in the world that would work as far as he knew.

"I'll give you the miracle you seek, Fujou," Shinji said roughly, withdrawing the priceless vial of Water of Life from his robes. "The Water of Life, an elixir that can cure any ailment at all." He paused, looking hard at the Fujou head. " _Any_ ailment – even death."

"…what is your price then, Matou?" Shiroe whispered. Something like this wouldn't – couldn't be cheap. But he'd already sworn to pay any price. Whatever it took to save his sister, it would be cheap – for him, even if it cost him his life.

Which was why the other's response shocked him to the core.

"Nothing," Matou Shinji said quietly, as he pressed the vial into Shiroe's hands. "I give this miracle to you freely."

"Wha—?"

The Fujou boy's mouth fell open in shock. Surely he had misheard Matou, for he couldn't have said—

"This miracle is yours. Take it and cure your sister."

But the boy had, and the vial – the _elixir_ – was in his hands.

"I…I won't forget this, Matou," Shiroe whispered, bowing low to the other boy. "I'll make sure Kaiduka and Hijiri know of your kindness, and if there's anything I can do…"

Matou Shinji just smiled, for what was rather what he thought Shiroe might say.

"…I'll let you know."

"Please do."

And with that, the two parted, one returning to his chambers, and the other moving quickly to catch the next train to Mifune.


	3. The Death of Matou Shinji

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 3** **.** _The Death of Matou Shinji_

For the first time since he'd begun his journey as a practitioner of witchcraft, Matou Shinji found himself in the forbidden chamber of the Matou estate, standing on the platform overlooking a pit of hundreds of thousands of worms – so many that if a human were to be swarmed by them, he or she would not last even a minute.

With all that he had seen, all that he experienced, the onmyouji thought he should be inured to the sheer horrorof the Matou family workshop – or the room that passed for one, with the _putrid_ honey sweet stench of death and decay redolent in the air, and a sound that was a cross between the worst wailing in the world and a half-eaten corpse being dragged across a stone floor echoing from the half-melted stone walls.

' _I do not like this place, Master. At all. What I see…what I see is…'_

Over his mental link, Shinji could feel his familiar's unease as the vulpine form of Zelkova's astral projection sat perched on his shoulder.

' _Show me,'_ the boy asked, and a moment later, his view of the world _changed,_ with the colors of everything around him fading away, save for his own form, which was wreathed in an aura of faintly gleaming blue – and the writhing mass of red-tinged darkness below him – a darkness that seemed hungry beyond measure, a mass that seemed to demand his destruction….

'… _Zelkova…?'_

' _Yes, Master.'_

' _You told me what red, blue, and gold meant,'_ the Matou scion communicated _, 'But what's…black?'_

' _Death,'_ was the familiar's chilling reply, as the room was filled with laughter – and not his own.

It was a laugh he'd heard once before and had never hoped to hear again, and it came from the very center of the decay, where threads of darkness and rot were taking the shape of a man. Hundreds creating the rudiments of feet, skin, ankles. Thousands more creating the imitation musculature and nerves, making the mockery of life more and more complete as more worms entered it – and were consumed, forming the flesh and form of Matou Zouken, the patriarch of the Matou family.

"You have come, child of the Makiri," the mass spoke, the presence of rot and corrosion almost overwhelming the boy as the _being_ came slowly up the stairs, stopping at the platform where his…grandson waited. "You understood the message then?"

"…yes, grandfather," Matou Shinji replied deferentially, going down on one knee before the Archmagus. "What is it you desire, grandfather?"

"Answers, boy," the voice of Matou Zouken rang out as the final worms flowed into place and the man took on his misleadingly kindly form.

"…answers?"

"Do not test my patience as your worthless mother did before you," the Archmagus cautioned, his voice a hiss that carried above the writing and screaming of the worms below as sunken sockets regarded the boy kneeling before him. " _What have you done with the daughter of the Einzbern_?"

"I didn't do anything, grandfather, beyond what you instructed," the boy replied. "I asked her to accompany me to the gala in the interest of reconciliation. I escorted her about London. And I saw her off to her waiting plane."

Which was all true from a certain point of view, though that didn't really help as the Archmagus advanced on the hapless boy, with the shrieking of the worms becoming louder and louder as he did.

"Do not lie to me, boy," the Matou patriarch commanded. "If you had simply done that, the Einzbern would not be displeased that the daughter of Kiritsugu never returned to Germany, no doubt believing that you captured her a part of a plot _I_ coordinated. So I ask again, _what did you do with Illyasviel von Einzbern_?"

"Simply what you asked, grandfather. I did everything in my power to make the representative of the Einzbern happy, to bury the enmity between us. And on the final day, when she asked me if she should wake up and return to despair, or if she should take a leap of faith," the boy related, swallowing as he fought to resist his grandfather's aura of dread. "…I…"

"Yes…?"

"I told her to leap."

"To leap," Matou Zouken repeated, his features twisting into a scowl. "You told her to abandon her role, then, if not in as many words. And for what? Do you know where she went off to after her ' _leap_ ', boy?"

"I cannot say," the boy replied, his features arranged into a perfectly blank mask.

' _This…this is not good,'_ Shinji thought to himself, but remained silent, even as every hair on his body began to stand on end, even as every cell in his body told him to fight – or flee, though his mind told him that there was no way out if Zouken did not permit it.

"Cannot…or _will_ not?" Zouken rasped, the buzzing and shrieking in the background growing ever louder as the worms seemed to…rise. "As the head of the Matou family, I order you to speak, child."

' _This…this is not good,'_ Shinji thought to himself, even as every hair on his body began to stand on end, even as every cell in his body told him to fight – or flee, though his mind told him that there was no way out if Zouken did not permit it.

Yet he remained silent, for his loyalty to another overrode his fear of Zouken. To _her_ he had sworn his allegiance – that even if it cost him everything, even if the world itself became her enemy, he would be her ally.

He would not betray her in this. Could not.

Not when everything he had now was because of _her_. His apprenticeship with Aozaki Touko, provisional though it might be; the wealth of the Room of Hidden Things; the prestige he enjoyed in Magical Britain and more.

So no answer came – and no answer would ever come.

"I see," Matou Zouken said slowly, his voice like two granite slabs grinding together. "Another commands your silence. How… _interesting_."

It had been some time since a child of his blood showed such… _spirit_ , he supposed. And if the boy _had_ fallen afoul of one of another magus, he supposed that was something that could be remedied. So far, it didn't seem that he hadn't intended to betray the family, even if the outcome of his actions had been nothing short of disastrous.

"I will make you an offer, boy," the Archmagus uttered disdainfully. "Submit to a geas never to betray the interests of this family again, and I will let you live, as there is a task you may yet accomplish for me."

"And what task might that be?" Shinji spoke at last.

"A trifling matter, child," Zouken ground out. "All you need do is seduce the Tohsaka heiress, and win her trust. Convince her to give her allegiance to you – and thus to our family, through marriage, so that the Three Families become Two. This will, of course, necessitate formally signing over the Tohsaka assets – including the spiritual land of Fuyuki itself, to me."

The Archmagus chuckled.

"Do this, and I will arrange matters so that you may be known as the head of the Matou family – in public, at least."

The background noise quieted as the Archmagus waited for an answer, with Zouken knowing full well that such an offer was far more generous than his failure of a grandson deserved, one that he would not have offered to the treacherous child if the Einzbern were not already…displeased with him.

As it was, however, he would take what assets he could get.

But the boy's response surprised him.

"No." Matou Shinji said firmly, rising to his feet to meet his grandfather eye to eye. "With all due respect, this is an offer I cannot accept."

For a moment, the room seemed to freeze, as the Matou patriarch actually stepped back in surprise.

His grandson had…refused? Then that meant that Shinji had not fallen under another's compulsion, after all, but had defied the family's interests of _his own free will._

"Wretched, faithless boy," the Archmagus spat in fury, as worms _surged_ upwards, along the steps and up the walls. "I gave you _everything._ When you were useless to me, I spared your life. When you received that _missive_ from that school of _witchcraft_ , _I_ arranged for you to receive a Mystic Code. _I_ arranged for Aozaki Touko to serve as a guide and mentor to you. _I_ paid for your instruction at the school. I gifted you a blade that you might receive training from a man who may be the current Hassan-i-Sabbah? And this… _this_ is how you repay me? How you repay what this family has done for you?"

' _Master…?'_ Zelkova's voice came over Shinji's mental link with the _kodama, 'Are you…?'_

"You would be _nothing_ without me _,"_ Zouken continued, killing intent _exploding_ from his form as the old man's appearance became more and more inhuman. "And yet when I asked you to accomplish one small task, you betrayed me."

"I did not—"

" _ **SILENCE, BOY!"**_ the sound came not from what remained of Zouken's body now, but from the entire chamber, as if all the worms within were directed by a single will. "You have done far more than enough _._ You have exposed this family to danger, put another party's interests above our own, and worst of all, refused to make up for your error in the slightest. It is time you shared your mother's fate."

Worms rushed forward, swarming hungrily towards Matou Shinji's form, but the moment before they struck, a bounded field blew them away, with the boy no longer clad in an ensemble of coat and slacks, but in a deep grey garment of a very Japanese cut, holding a scythe in his hand.

" _I think not_ ," the other spoke, his golden eyes flashing defiantly in the darkness.

More worms rushed forward – hundreds, thousands, worms beyond number, the fell craft which animated them eating away at the bounded field – before the very stone under them came to life, ripping them apart.

"You dare lift your hand against me?!" a voice _hissed._

Shinji had barely a moment to react as he felt a surge of prana, witha volley of shadowy spears materializing all around him and shooting forth to skewer him where he stood, piercing his bounded field and ripping through his body.

Or rather, where his body had been a split second ago, as sensing the danger, he'd leapt upward with all his might, commanding the stone of the wall to extrude a ledge for him to stand on.

"Fool! No matter what you do, you only delay the inevitable," the mass of worms hissed as one, as it surged up the walls towards him, with the form of Matou Zouken himself barring the way out. "You are in the very heart of my power. There can be no escape."

But Matou Shinji was not helpless, as by his will and the prana within him, the very walls came to life, impaling the worms that sought him and turning them to stone.

"Perhaps not," the boy conceded, as he jumped from ledge to ledge to avoid spears of corrupting shadow, his scythe cutting cold shining arcs through the swarm that came after him. "You likely could destroy me. But can you do it before I bring down this house and everything in it?"

The mass ceased its onslaught at the audacity of the boy's question.

"… _what did you say?_ " the swarm hissed sibilantly, yet it made no move to attack,

"This house is made of earth and wood, is it not, _grandfather?"_ the creature that bore the name of Matou Shinji inquired, expanding his awareness to encompass the entirety of the structure. "And while bringing it down upon us likely could not kill you, I wonder how my… _sister_ would fare."

"You…you would not dare do such a thing," Matou Zouken said – but there was a bit of uncertainty in the Archmagus' voice. "You know that if you did, I would destroy you – every bit of you."

"Of course I would," the boy intoned, his voice utterly without anger, without pride, without any emotion at all – and all the more disconcerting for it. "You see, grandfather, you might call this a no win scenario. Which means, if I don't have a chance of winning – I just have to make you lose."

A thick, heavy silence hung in the air as Matou Zouken digested what his…grandson had just threatened to do – something that no proper Matou would ever do. For if the boy succeeded, the family would come to an end, and worse, the Archmagus would lose a vessel into which he'd implanted pieces of the broken Grail.

…and that could not be permitted, at any cost.

"What do you want then, traitor?" the Matou patriarch growled, looking up the one who had dared to defy him.

"My life," the boy replied softly. "I wish to walk out of that door alive, and in full control of my will, without the chains of this past existence – any geas - binding me."

Once more, an uneasy silence fell, with seconds stretching to minutes on end, before the Archmagus spoke at last.

"I should kill you where you stand for what you have done against this family, boy," Matou Zouken noted, closing his eyes. "For what you have threatened to do. We gave you everything, made you who you were – and yet you betrayed our trust, invited destruction upon us, and threaten the same yourself. You are no son of the Matou. Perhaps you never were."

The old monster shook his head, as if he found what had happened difficult to believe.

"You wish for freedom after doing so much to us?" the Archmagus continued, narrowing his eyes. "Then you shall have it. In turn, you must renounce everything we gave you. Including the wand which marks you as a Matou, your name, and any claim to a place in Fuyuki…or this family."

"…done," Shinji said, swallowing. Without another word, he withdrew his cherry and worm wand – the instrument that had served him faithfully over the last three years, and dropped it into the pit of worms below.

As if in acknowledgement, the form of Matou Zouken melted away, leaving the path to the door clear.

"Then from the moment, child, you are dead to this family." The monster's voice issued from all around the stone chamber, echoing off the walls. "And as acting Second Owner, I banish you from this spiritual land on pain of death. Should you ever return, whether for the Grail War or any other reason, I _will_ destroy you."

"Your will be done, Second Owner," the boy stated, bowing his head in acceptance of Matou Zouken's terms.

"Were it were truly so," the Archmagus said quietly, "we would not be having this conversation. Now begone."

And so the boy named Matou Shinji died that night, as the nameless one who took his place leaving the Matou estate for the first – and last – time.

* * *

Invisible to the eyes of others, the boy wandered out on the street towards the Fujou estate – the place where he had arranged for Zelkova's physical body to be delivered. Before coming to Fuyuki, he'd been concerned about his safety, given the magecraft the Matou specialized in, as well as the presence of the strange "Archer" he'd encountered the last time he was here, and knew it would be safer to bring his familiar.

However, as powerful as Zelkova was, the _kodama_ had one crippling weakness – the fact that its physical form was a potted plant, incapable of protecting itself if the spirit within was used for fusion form were required.

So, the boy had gone to the _Root of the Sky,_ where he'd spoken Matsuo Hijiri about his concerns, and the Maiden of the Tree, having heard what he had done for the Fujou, was prepared to be accommodating.

"Yes, I can see how that might be an issue, especially as you have not yet reached the point where you can simply project _yourself_ to a destination while in fusion form," the woman had noted.

"…I can do that?" the boy had asked, blinking, where upon the Maiden had sighed.

"Yes. Once you attain more proficiency with the skill, Matou," she'd replied, raising an eyebrow. "You have barely begun to scratch the surface of what spirit fusion makes possible, but you will learn in time. Provided you survive that long."

"…do you know something I don't?"

"Much," the young woman had said to him, looking at him with eyes the color of dried blood. "But then, I've been around much longer than you. All I meant in this case is that it takes time to master the skill. A great deal of it."

"You don't look it, you know," the boy had commented, noting that the girl dressed in the attire of a shrine maiden still seemed quite young – that in fact, she hadn't seemed to age a single day since three years ago.

"Of course not. You don't age while in fusion form," the Maiden of the Tree had said quietly. "And I've remained in fusion for a very long time."

"With the great tree of _Mahoutokoro,"_ Shinji had summed up.

"Just so," Hijiri had answered, giving her head a shake. "I will prepare a gateway to transport your familiar's physical form to Fuyuki separately from you – and to evacuate you both if necessary."

"I am grateful. But where will it be?"

"The former Emiya estate, where Fujou Hisui and her guardian reside at present."

It was to there he was falling back now, remaining hidden from prying eyes due to his synchronization with the world. For those in fusion form, the individual and the world were not distinctly separated, so it was a small thing to push that synchronization to its limits and simply vanish, rendering one's form utterly indiscernible.

If one were to attack or make preparations for such, this would, of course, increase the distinction between the world and the self, given the concentration of will required, but otherwise, it was a powerful ability.

One he used to good measure as he vaulted the wall of the Fujou estate, entering the shed in its central courtyard and passing through the portal within to the City Under Earth, carrying his familiar's physical body with him, leaving no sign that Matou Shinji had ever escaped the house of his birth.

* * *

…and so no one in Fuyuki suspected that he had survived when the funeral was attacked the next day, with Matou Sakura falling to a homunculus' blades, and the Matou estate burned to the ground, with everything in it - worms, library, and all - consumed by white hot flames.


	4. You are (Not) Alone

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 4** **.** _You are (not) Alone_

For the boy once named Matou Shinji, sleep was hard to come by after he left Fuyuki for good. No matter how tired he was, how he tossed and turned, what he did before sleeping, it took hours between the time he laid himself on upon bed and the time he drifted off to sleep.

He hadn't expected that he would have to have to confront his grandfather so directly, nor that things would have ended as disastrously as they had. But he supposed that from the Archmagus' point of view, he _was_ a traitor for what he'd done, especially with what had happened the day after he left, and in Matou Zouken's eyes, he had already been given – and was being offered – far more than he deserved.

' _I had to choose…'_

The choice was simple: betray his family (again) by rejecting a geas to protect their interests, this time in the full knowledge of what he was doing, or betray the Director of Atlas by revealing what had truly happened at the gala, possibly compromising _her_ interests.

Despite knowing what it would cost him, the boy rejected his grandfather's offer of mercy, knowing that to do anything else was to turn his back on everything he was, on everything he had built for himself since he had to Hogwarts.

Improbably, he'd even survived, for a given value of survival.

For Matou Shinji – the boy who had sought his grandfather's approval, the boy who drew upon his family's history for respect or an aura of legitimacy, the boy who had wanted nothing more than to be accepted as being of use to the Matou – had died that night.

What remained…

…even he didn't know.

He'd lost his past, much as Fujou Shiroe once had, but unlike the other boy, there could – and would – be no going back. No miraculous intervention that would restore to him what he'd lost.

Especially since it seemed that Illyasviel's warning that the Einzbern would come for him – would come for the Matou – had not been false.

The funeral of Matou Byakuya took place the day after he left Fuyuki, and every person in attendance had been slain by a group of what was currently being reported as unknown assailants, but who _he_ knew to be the Einzbern, given that a second group had targeted the Matou mansion, destroying everything within.

And while the boy was fairly certain the monster who he had called his grandfather had survived, nothing else had. Not his former _sister_ , not his childhood home, not the books he'd read or the history of their lineage.

Because he had chosen the happiness of a single girl over her family's – and his family's – wishes, the Matou had been destroyed.

Sometimes he wondered what might have happened if he hadn't parted with the Water of Life so easily. If he'd offered it to his grandfather, would that have been enough to buy the Archmagus' forgiveness without accepting the man's offer? If he'd simply arrived at the funeral itself instead of walking into the Archmagus' lair the night before to answer the man's questions, could he have proven his loyalty by fighting alongside the Matou?

Would his presence have even made a difference?

While he was awake, he sometimes managed to keep those thoughts away, but when he went to sleep, those what-ifs, those might-have-beens troubled him, kept him awake for hours on end until at last he found himself caught within the pattern of a dream.

* * *

Strangely, though Zelkova was not close by, his dreams during the last week had not been nightmares of steel, blood, and flames. Those would have been a perverse comfort in a way, reminding him that no matter what had already transpired, perhaps other, worse fates had been avoided. Instead he found himself among fragments of the past – what part of the past remained to him after his fateful choice, anyway, revisiting different scenes from his life.

As now, when he found himself blindfolded, listening for any sound, any hint of what was happening.

"Remember the guiding philosophy behind the arts I am teaching you," the voice of Gilderoy Lockhart spoke from somewhere behind him. "Nothing is true, everything is permitted."

The man was…circling him, he thought, though he couldn't hear the other's footsteps at all.

Curious, that, given that the man could be so flamboyant.

"Tell me, child, do you understand what it means?" the man asked.

"That we should be free to consider all possibilities," he answered, much as he had when the man had asked this of him months ago.

"No. It is not a command to be free. It is a command to be wise, to realize how fragile the assumptions upon which the world rests – that _we_ rest – truly are. And it is a warning that actions have consequences we must live with, whether glorious or tragic."

"Can we ever hope to know what those consequences may be ahead of time?" the boy questioned, whereupon his mentor had only chuckled.

"We can hope, certainly," the Assassin conceded, his tone almost _amused,_ though the boy couldn't see the man's expression. "Sadly, what we know is usually imperfect, given the filters through which we see the world, the things that have shaped us and who we have become."

"I see."

"Do you? Do you truly understand the nature of the self and how as you shape the world, the world shapes you?"

"I…I think so."

But Gilderoy Lockhart only laughed at this weak assertion, a sound not filled with anger or derision, only…pity, as he circled Shinji's position.

"Do you indeed?" the Assassin inquired. "Then answer this, child: _who are you_?"

"I…" the boy began, but not words came to mind, nor to his lips. "I…"

And then the world fell away beneath him, a sense of disorientation and vertigo nearly overcoming him as he tumbled on and on and on, an endless eternity of seconds passing as everything melted away into silence.

The blindfold was gone, but there was nothing to be seen.

Not in this place that was no place, where everything was defined by its absence and intangibility, with no sound, no light, no sense that anything else existed – no sense that even he existed.

How long he spent falling, he didn't know, but it was long enough that he thought his hair should have turned grey, his teeth fallen out, for his body to wither, but somehow it didn't. Somehow he didn't go mad in the spaces between—

—as he finally entangled with another pattern, and the world grew solid around him once more, with fireworks bursting brilliantly overhead and the delicious smell of festival food wafting from the city below him, mingling with the exotic scent of desert sand.

Blinking, the boy turned to see that he was not alone.

Beside him stood a familiar figure dressed in a yukata of midnight purple patterned with the faintest impression of red-violet leaves, with her face half-covered by a porcelain and gold mask that reminded him of nothing so much an owl.

"You're here," he murmured, both happy to see her, and missing her terribly as he knew she wasn't really there – that this was but a dream.

"I did promise," the Alchemist remarked. "Even should it rain."

"That you did," the boy replied weakly, shaking his head. Seeing her – the one whose interests he had protected at the cost of everything else – reminded him of what he had lost. "Tell me, Sokaris, did I…did I do the right thing?"

"What is right and wrong is not so easily determined," Sion Eltnam Atlasia said in turn, her expression unreadable, even for him. "After all, there are many paths and many possibilities, especially for those born into our world, as you were."

"I…"

That wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Your loyalty is to be commended," she acknowledged, with the boy letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "And I have said before, there is a place for you at Atlas, should you desire it. You need not prove yourself to me further for that." She paused for a moment as the evening breeze lifted her long purple hair, and she shook her head. "But you have chosen to make your own path."

"…I have, it's true," the boy conceded with a sigh.

"Given your decision, it is not my place to say if you have done right or wrong," the Alchemist intoned, her deep purple eyes seeing right through him. "That is simply a function of whether your actions support your desired outcome."

"Mm, could you put that more simply, Sokaris?"

There was a sound that might have been a chuckle, or might have only been the wind. He was never quite sure with Sokaris.

"To put it simply then," she said quietly. "W _hat do you want?"_

"I…I want…"

Before he could answer, the world spun, shifted, _changed_ once more, though this time there was no sense of interminable falling as the boy stumbled against the archway of a shop he knew all too well.

' _This is the place where I bought…my other wand…'_

"Ah, come in, come in!" the shopkeeper bade him. As Shinji had thought the first time he had seen the man, the shopkeeper was rather unusual looking, given his apparent youth and his silver hair – a color he now associated with homunculi, as well as his overly large spectacles. "Come in, don't be shy. After all, I'm sure you've come a long way in one way or another."

The boy blinked but did as instructed, glancing around at the collection of artifacts in _Asplund's Shop of Horrors._

Wands. Rings. Shields. Blades of all varieties. Books. And of course, trinkets and curios he didn't begin to recognize, but screamed of some exotic origin.

"Tell me, then, _why are you here_?" the man inquired, gesturing about at his shop.

"Here as in this shop?" Shinji asked, his lips curving into a frown. "Or here as in the world?"

"You tell me," the other answered. "After all, this is your dream, after all."

The boy blinked. He hadn't expected self-awareness from a piece of the dreaming.

"That's a good question," he conceded, raising an eyebrow. "I suppose I'm looking for…something."

Answers, this time.

"A seeker, are you?" Asplund inquired, his lips pulling into a smirk. "Well, seek and ye shall find. But only if you know what you are looking for, and what the price will be. Me? Why, I'm but a sociopath born with an empty heart. Who knows what I see?"

"What's this about a price…?"

"Ah, ah, ah," the man said, waggling his finger. "There can be no price unless you know what you are looking for. But that is not my question, is it?"

The shop disappeared in a blur, and the boy found himself standing before an ebon door, beside his Master.

"Matou, what do you seek?" she asked him, turning her head to regard him with her cold, red eyes.

He'd once answered knowledge, but now, he wasn't so sure. Knowledge alone wasn't enough – he wanted to know what the consequences of that knowledge would be, and how it could be applied.

But how could he best word that?

"True wisdom," he replied after a few moments, figuring that was the best way to say what he wanted. But at the sound of this, his Master's expression froze in surprise. "What?"

"You are not the first to answer such," the puppeteer said, a trace of sadness flitting across her features for a fraction of a second before it vanished as if it had never been. "And I doubt you will be the last."

Around him, the tapestry of the world unraveled, with wood and stone and flesh breaking apart into countless _ofuda_ , filling the air with paper enough that it seemed spring had come once more, and he was watching cherry blossoms fall to earth.

Talismans filled with a power he knew not swirled around him, all directed by a single will. But where he was, when he was, why he was here, he didn't know.

For this wasn't a memory he knew, as voices whispered all around him, murmuring in languages he didn't recognize, babbling in countless tongues alive and dead and long-forgotten, speaking of worlds and wills and wishes.

He didn't know this place, had never seen it before, but there was something almost familiar about it as he made his way through the storm of _paper,_ slowly making his way to its heart, from where a hauntingly beautiful voice could be heard.

The _ofuda_ grew denser as he approached, swirling faster, faster, faster yet, until at last he stepped through the final barrier and chanced upon a shrine maiden in the midst of a sacred dance.

Matsuo Hijiri, to be precise, the Maiden of the Tree, her red, pleated skirt and the ribbons in her brown-black hair fluttering in the wind as she moved.

"Welcome, child," the Maiden spoke without so much as turning to look at him, though her voice seemed different – deeper perhaps, more aged. "What brings you to this realm?"

"This…realm?" Shinji questioned. "I thought I was…dreaming."

"In dreams, the boundaries between are far weaker than in waking," the Maiden responded cryptically, though she did not pause in her dancing.

"The boundaries between what?"

" _Everything_ ," the other said expansively. "The past, the present, the future. People. Spirits. And all the things which words cannot describe."

Shinji shivered and took a step back.

"You're not…Matsuo-san, are you?" he asked.

"This one wears her form, as it is one you are comfortable with, but this one is not her," came the reply. "This one judged you once, saw what you might become. Your choices weigh upon you, child."

"…you…you're…the Tree. _"_

"I am and am not. We are and are not. This one is and is not and will be. This one is not…linear," the not-Hijiri answered, her steps moving in the endless dance. "It is why the Maiden speaks for this one."

"Because she applies a more human mindset to the needs of those in _Mahoutokoro?_ "

"She is the heart."

The answer was simple, but the form it took was anything but, as the voice came from all around him, as if it was the world itself speaking to him.

"I…see," the boy whispered, swallowing. Perhaps he did, or perhaps he did not. Even he didn't know for sure.

"Tell me, child, _where are you going_?" the voice asked, as a portal materialized before the wanderer.

"To find answers."

"To find who you are," the voice said once more. "What you want. And more."

"Yes."

"Then proceed," came the answer, like the whisper of the breeze through the branches of a great tree, as the boy who had once been known as Matou Shinji stepped through the shimmering, mirror-smooth surface of the portal, into a world of night.

The stars were bright in the jet-black sky, but their light was cold and faint beside the pale glow of the watery moon.

"Do you have anything worth living for?" a dreamy voice asked from behind him, with the boy turning to see the figure and form of the girl named Luna Lovegood, her hair and eyes and skin glowing softly under the moon's illumination.

She walked up to him, taking his hand and twining his fingers with hers, so for the first time in the dreaming, the boy smiled.

It was nice to have an answer to _something,_ after all.

"You know the answer to that question, Luna," he said warmly, with his companion smiling as well at his words, before capturing his lips in a soft, tender kiss.

* * *

Gently, eyes were slowly opened, and with a muffled groan, the boy once called Matou Shinji stirred at last from a long, mysterious dream. The taste and feel of Luna's lips lingered on his, and without her warmth, the boy felt unreasonably cold, even though it bade fair to be another hot summer day.

If there was a truth he could be certain of, it was that he missed her terribly.

He'd long come to terms with the fact that he would only be able to see Sokaris once a year, but Luna was his companion – the one he trusted more than anyone else in the world, the Director of Atlas aside. While at Hogwarts, they'd spent a great deal of time together, sparring or exploring the Room of Hidden Things in the morning, sharing dinner and exploring the grounds in the evenings, and enjoying each other's warmth on cold winter nights.

' _If it wasn't for her…'_

The boy sighed and shook his head as his lips twisted into a wry smile.

If it wasn't for her, he wouldn't still be alive after his encounter with the onikuma – well, the tanuki. If it wasn't for her, he wouldn't have discovered fusion so soon – or pushed for it with such fervor – as he would have no clue that something like it was possible, and he didn't think Zelkova would have just told him until he was ready. If it wasn't for her…

'… _it would have been so easy to just accept the praise of Magical Britain, to rest on my laurels instead of continuing to look beyond.'_

To stop questioning, and simply accept what he'd chosen for himself was correct. But she always questioned, always pushed, always was curious – and it drove him to be _more_ than he otherwise would be.

' _And then there's the issue that aside from Sokaris, she's the only one whose touch I feel comfortable with…'_

For someone from a culture which stressed reserve, Matou Shinji could be very…physical with people, sometimes reaching out to squeeze a shoulder or a hand, or – as with Hermione – to lift her chin so she would look at him.

But his actions hadn't really been about getting close to people – they had been pre-emptive, a way to keep a certain distance and control, because there was a part of him that didn't fully trust them. They didn't know of his world, and so he wasn't comfortable with them touching _him_ …at least, not casually.

When Hermione had her breakdowns, he'd comforted her, but that had been by his choice, just as it had been his choice to pamper Tohsaka or such. When Hermione had taken his first kiss though, he'd frozen up, with a sense of foreboding bordering on _violation_ filling him.

Perhaps it stemmed from his childhood, where he'd been neglected and had feared being taken against his will and thrown into the worm pit, like his mother before him, because of his failures. He didn't know, and he'd never really asked, since he didn't think his Master would be forthcoming with answers.

What he did know was that he'd never felt uncomfortable when Luna touched him – that the feeling of her fingers on his skin thrilled and excited him instead of making him flinch. That she understood him, listening without judging or any hint of skepticism even as she provided valuable insight. That they fit together wonderfully.

And that for some reason, she trusted him – _him –_ with her life.

A year ago, when he'd shared her tent for the first time, he'd found it hard to sleep when surrounded by her scent, just as he would have the scent of any other human being. But as the journey progressed, as they came to know each other intimately, he'd come to find her scent comforting, even thrilling.

Others saw him and accepted him in his persona as the mysterious boy from the East, a boy who was confident, strong, powerful beyond his years – but Luna had seen him without any of those trappings. She'd seen him at his weakest, at his frailest, seen all of his failures, and accepted him anyway, even sharing her vitality with him so he might live. She'd seen the useless Matou Shinji, and had considered him worthy of care.

Worthy of love.

That, more than anything else, made him keep striving to be a better practitioner of witchcraft – and a better person. That she trusted him, tested him, helped him, kept him anything but complacent – all the more so because he knew she was willing to die for him.

And in the days after the fight against the Acromantulae, when she'd lain unconscious after depleting her prana with a massive blast – one he'd asked her to use – he realized he never wanted her to suffer in that way again.

Perhaps that was why she had done what she had, because she'd nearly seen him die once, and didn't want that to happen again.

' _Luna…'_ he whispered into the empty room. _'I want to see you.'_

But there was no answer that morning, and his room of stone and wood seemed far colder for it.

* * *

 _KABOOM!_

The boy who had once been named Matou Shinji groaned as he was tossed into the air by the force of a terrifyingly potent explosion, with a three-legged crow yanking him further upwards as a dome of darkness rose from the blast site – and was brutally suppressed by a frowning Sajyou Ayaka.

The crow – Yatagarasu, Sajyou-san's familiar – swooped down and dropped the boy unceremoniously on the ground before the elder _onmyouji_ with a muffled _thump_.

"Ow…" he muttered, as the other Witch glared down at him disapprovingly.

"Had I not been here," the bespectacled girl stated blandly, "you would be dead, Matou Shinji."

"Don't call me that, please," the boy requested, as he gingerly got back to his feet. "I'm not…I'm not a Matou anymore."

"I see," Ayaka intoned. There might have been a trace of sympathy in her voice, but when she spoke again, her tone was cold. "Is this why you were distracted enough to lose control of a water spell?"

"…yes," the boy admitted. "I'm—"

"I believe I have already made my position on apologies clear," the girl interrupted, giving the boy a withering look. "As was my position on informing me if you had an issue you needed to deal with."

"I didn't realize…" Shinji began, but closed his mouth before he could say anything else, as what he had done really wasn't defensible.

He'd chosen to try and master his water elemental alignment this summer, given that by now he had a solid grounding in the earth elemental magic, and thought that knowing how to use water more effectively would give him more options in combat – in addition to perhaps defeating the pesky weakness that _ofuda_ often had to fire.

That…and he thought Zelkova might prefer it, give that in the five elements cycle, water boosted wood, and such would make his _fusion_ with the _kodama_ more powerful.

Sadly, it seemed that if anything, his issues with control had just gotten worse.

And so, Sajyou Ayaka only shook her head.

"Go to Matsuo-san," she directed. "It is clear to me that you require help that I cannot provide."

* * *

"Sajyou-san tells me you have been distracted, these last few days, with each day getting worse," the Maiden of the Tree said as soon as the boy stepped into _The Root of the Sky._ "As you have seen, this can be a very dangerous thing, when seeking to master manipulation – especially when you still have an overwhelming yin affinity."

"I see…"

"Admittedly, from what Zelkova tells me, your control of earth is improved, and the fact that you achieved fusion so early is a promising start, but…"

"…my distraction isn't acceptable," Shinji said heavily. "I know."

"I'm glad you realize this," the Maiden said, as she looked at him with eyes the color of dried blood. "You struggle with who you are. With what path you will take. And more."

"How…?"

"I am the Maiden of the Tree. What it knows, I know," Hijiri noted quietly. "I think at this juncture, it would be helpful for you to take a week of leave from your training to find the answers you seek and regain your focus. One option would be for you to join Sajyou Ayaka on a two week retreat into the mountains to practice her potions work andsurvival training."

"No…I don't think she would be very happy if I were to come with her right now," Shinji said softly. "I…she's warned me about being distracted before, and today…"

"Yes, Sajyou-san is not one that it is wise to anger, this is true. Very well then, what would you like to do?" the Maiden inquired. "I know of your Vanishing Cabinets. Would you like to go through them to spend time with your childhood friend, Tohsaka Rin?"

The thought was…tempting, but in the mood he was in now, Shinji didn't think things would go well, as Rin had never been much of a comforter.

"If I could do anything," he mused aloud, recalling the dream he'd had, even while knowing it was impossible. "I would want…to find Luna. To go to her side. To see her."

"Luna," the Maiden repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Your _shiroi koibito_?"

"Well…yes," Shinji admitted, with a tinge of color on his cheeks. It would be foolish to claim it was otherwise, after he'd already told the girl that he loved her. "You could call her that."

"You wish to go to her?" Hijiri confirmed, placing her hands together as something smooth and silvery began to materialize.

"If I could. But I wouldn't even know how to fi…" his voice trailed off as he looked at Matsuo-san, and then at the silver sheen appearing between her fingertips. "…you can take me to her?"

"She has communed with the Tree, as you have," the Maiden said kindly. "It is a simple enough matter to find the touch of her prana in the world."

Shinji swallowed at Hijiri so casually mentioning such a thing.

"I see. Then if you can, please…"

With a wave of the Maiden's hands, the shimmering portal between her hands shifted, materializing before Matou Shinji, and without hesitation, the boy stepped through it into another time and place.

* * *

Matou Shinji found himself disoriented as he stepped out of the portal – which quickly closed behind him – and found himself on a deserted beach covered sand blacker than pitch. It was dusk, and the sea stretched headlong into the distance as far as he could see, with liquid light reflecting from the surface and the cries of seabirds echoing in the distance.

But of Luna Lovegood, there was no trace.

' _Did Matsuo-san send me to the wrong place?'_ he'd just begun to wonder, when the query died half formed in his mind, as Luna Lovegood emerged slowly from the sea, her form silhouetted by the dying sun.

She wore only a sheer white dress, made transparent by the water, with her blonde hair and her wet, supple form almost glowing in the amber light of dusk, as the boy just looked on, utterly dumbstruck by the sight of her.

"Beautiful…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Yet somehow, she heard it – or perhaps she only saw his silhouette, as dreamy silver eyes fell upon a most unexpected visitor.

Seeing who it was, no matter how impossible it was, the girl smiled.

"Hullo, Matou," she murmured, her voice carrying over the lapping of the waves on the sand as she sauntered towards her breathless lover, who only stood there, drinking in her form as she approached.

"Um…hi, Luna," Shinji managed.

"Are you going to just stand there?" she wondered aloud in her dreamy, sing-song voice. When he said nothing – unable to reply – she closed the distance between them, capturing his lips in a hot, hungry kiss – a kiss he returned with equal passion, as his arms went around her, and he finally felt like all was right with the world.

* * *

For George Weasley, life in _Mahoutokoro_ was an interesting experience, with how different the city was from Britain – in particularly, with everything being in one grand city instead of scattered across a number of settlements. As well, there was the matter of holding a stable job teaching English to people around his age – which was not the easiest thing in the world.

He did enjoy the company of one of his students – a fellow redhead by the name of Fujou Kohaku – and occasionally, they would go shopping together after class, with her showing him around the more interesting shops the city had to offer.

There were the snack shops, where he quickly discovered the joys of having a ready supply of Pocky, mocha, and all manner of stuffed breads - things which Matou had introduced him to, but had quickly run out of early in the year. There were the noodle shops, where he found that the "Ramen" Matou had the house elves make was only one variety of Japanese noodle – and didn't even originate in Japan, as it was a derivative of the Chinese hand-drawn noodles.

There were craft shops, places that sold catalysts, wands, clothing of all varieties, clocks, rugs, living tapestries.

And there were other shops, the ones that sold curios and relics not available anywhere else in the city.

In one of these more interesting ones, _Asplund's Shop of Horrors,_ the boy found an item he absolutely could not resist after the shopkeeper, a strange bespectacled man who admitted to being a sociopath born with an empty heart, showed him what exactly it could do.

He and Kohaku had been looking around at the man's display cases when Asplund's selection of rings caught their eyes.

"What are these?" George had asked, peering at the assortment of baubles and bands.

"Ah, these?" the proprietor, Asplund himself, said airily, unlocking the case with a heavy bronze key. "Trifles, really. Rings of power that have come to me by one route or another. They have passed through many hands."

One – a plain band made of pure hematite – was a ring of regeneration with two functions. Passively, it would boost physical healing and prana restoration, though it could also be used to cast a powerful spell of healing in an emergency.

"This one seems nice, Georg-san," Kohaku said, her amber eyes lingering on the band for a moment more than anything else in the shop, which the Weasley boy did not miss.

"I'll buy it for you, if you'd like," the English boy replied, flashing her a warm smile.

"Would you, Georg-san?" she asked, clapping her hands together with delight. "That would be very nice of you!"

"Well then, if you desire it, I suppose we can come to an arrangement," the silver-haired proprietor drawled. "Shall I show the rest of the collection?"

George nodded, wanting to see what else there was.

And what was there did not disappoint.

There was a silver band set with a brilliant-cut sunstone, which the man called a ring of illusion – an artifact in which a boggart was bound, giving whoever wore the ring a frightful aura and causing him or her to take on the visage of a person one fears most.

There was a ring of gold set with rubies, bearing a fragment of a fire spirit's might. Such a ring could boost one's resistance to mental domination – or be used more actively to launch fireballs at enemies.

"…a ring of fireballs?" George asked dryly.

"Now, now, I don't make these," Asplund replied, holding up his hands in protest. "I merely collect. I'm told it even offers resistance to the _Imperius_ curse."

"Huh. What else do you have?"

There was a ring that housed a spirit of wind, forged somewhere in the Middle East, which could gave its wielder some command over the winds, and protection from the same.

"And what about this one?" George inquired, his eyes falling upon a band wrought of many grey moonstones.

"Ah…this one," the proprietor stated. "One of the older items in my collection. Of Russian manufacture, I believe, during the reign of Ivan the Terrible."

"Ivan the who?" George asked, with Asplund shaking his head with disgust.

"Oh never mind," the man groused, his expression somewhat miffed. "Just a historical figure I suppose they don't teach about anymore. I suppose they did change the curriculum from when I was only a young man."

"…a young…how old are you, sir?" the Weasley boy inquired. The man seemed no older than in his mid-30s, though it was always hard to tell with magical folk.

"Ah ah ah, I don't believe I'll answer that, if it's all the same to you," the shopkeeper said quietly, his grey eyes seeming very cold indeed.

"Sorry," George said.

"Ara, what does it do?" Kohaku interjected.

"Ah, I'm glad you asked," Asplund said, favoring the girl with a thin smile. "Drawing on the magic of one born a…wizard, it shifts him or her further into the spirit world, rendering the wearer invisible to the eyes of most."

"So, like an invisibility cloak, then?"

"In a way, though it works by a very different principle," the man explained. "As you are no doubt aware, most invisibility cloaks are made of demiguise fur, and so offer merely…optical camouflage. This item goes one step further, by removing its user from the physical world, leaving you not only invisible…but intangible."

"…you mean, I could walk through walls and closed doors?" George inquired, narrowing his eyes at the artifact.

"Or though people, yes," the silver haired man replied. "Such devices were once of great use to those who needed an easy way to evade capture or to enter places whose doors were normally barred to them."

"Only once of great use?" George raised an eyebrow, as he wondered why these weren't still sold. "It seems to me that something like this would still be quite useful indeed. More so than an invisibility cloak, at least!" The boy pursed his lips. "Say, does _Homenum Revelio_ work on a person protected by the ring?"

Here the man chuckled.

"Why no, because while one wears the ring, one is not properly human."

Both redheads' eyebrows shot skyward at the man's reply.

"Not human you say…?" George echoed.

"One who wears the ring essentially becomes a spirit for the duration, with the capabilities and vulnerabilities thereof. For instance, while you will be able to see other spirits and even interact with magic on a deeper level than in your human state, you will also be far more vulnerable to anti-spirit defenses or magic."

"That sounds…dangerous, though I don't think we have much of those in Britain," the Weasley boy noted. "We've never really had to deal with spirits. Well, except the occasional poltergeist."

This was much unlike Japan, which dealt with youkai on a regular basis, meaning those with yin abilities or anti-spirit capabilities were greatly valued.

"Perhaps," the man said with an eloquent shrug. "On the other hand, while in spirit form, your magical potential _would_ be greatly increased."

"Huh."

"Would you like to try it on?" Asplund inquired, withdrawing the ring from the case and holding it out to the boy.

"Yes. Please!" he said quickly. "If it's no trouble, that is."

"No trouble. We wouldn't want an unsatisfied customer, now would we?"

With that, George slipped the ring on his finger and the world he knew vanished.

Everything he had seen, had felt, had known, grew indistinct, with the objects around him no more than shadowy, smoky forms for the most part – save for the rings, which glowed with what he realized was magic, the boundaries of the shop, outlined in brilliant blue, and the people.

Kohaku looked pale and transparent as a ghost, and he found he could pass through her fairly easily.

The shopkeeper's form, however, remained solid. Or rather, his form was shot through with brilliant light – dozens of them – that gave him a powerful solidity.

As for himself – he felt light, powerful, like he could go anywhere, do anything.

He could even _fly_.

The boy laughed as he walked around the store, floated about the store, passing through what would have been shelves, moving to and fro through their smoky forms with ease.

'… _I…I could get used to this.'_

"How is it, Mister Weasley?" the proprietor asked after some time, with George slightly disoriented to find that the man was now standing next to him – and more, was looking right at him, as if the man could see him. "To feel more powerful than you ever have? To know that nothing – outside of magic – can stop you? To be free?"

With immense force of will, George wrenched the ring from his finger, the rush of power fading from him as the solidity of the world returned. After experiencing what he had, it was almost…disappointing to return to reality, though there was a question on his mind.

"You could see me," the boy noted slowly. "How? I thought you said I was invisible and intangible."

The man smiled once more – a very thin sort of smile.

"I would be a poor magus if I could not interact with the spirit world, now wouldn't I? Besides, there are no other such in my shop – the boundary prevents them from entering."

"A Magus?" George echoed. "That's a rather archaic term for a wizard, isn't it?"

The man only chuckled.

"I suppose some might say so, but then I'm rather archaic myself," Asplund said dryly. "In any case, I would find an invisibility cloak far easier to defeat."

"…I see. How much would this be?" the Weasley boy asked. "Along with my companion's purchase, of course?"

"Of course," the man allowed. "You mentioned an invisibility cloak earlier. Do you have one with you?"

Raising an eyebrow, George nodded and took the item in question from his bag. After all, it was never far from him since he'd won it from Quirrell's Christmas Challenge.

"You mean this?"

The proprietor nodded, and so the boy handed him the cloak.

"Hm. Not bad, not bad at all," the man murmured, running his fingers over the silvery fabric, his eyes curious as he looked over every imperfection. "Damaged somewhat of course, but such is to be expected with what this has been through. You fought a Troll, did you? A powerful wizard as well, it seems, if his _Confringo_ was any indication. A fusion user, I see, one of my previous customers. And, even Acromantulae. Curious."

Kohaku looked at George oddly as the man recounted these things.

"You never told me you did so many things, Georg-san!"

"It never came up," the Weasley boy said nervously, scratching the back of his head. "How can you tell all that? You didn't…use legilimency or something, did you?"

The man only laughed.

"The story is in the fabric for those with eyes to see," Asplund noted. "If you think of life as a great pudding, and the experiences we have as the ingredients that make it up, then a discerning one can make out even the traces."

George blinked. He'd never heard of anyone calling life a pudding before.

"Huh," the boy said slowly. "As for a fusion user, do you mean to say Matou has been here?"

"Ah, Miss Granger's _good friend,_ " the proprietor confirmed. "He bought a wand from me last year. His second, I believe. One that I hope has served him well. Gregorovitch's work is difficult to get rid of at the best of times."

"Well, that's him I suppose," George noted. "I guess, if he shopped here, then I suppose there's no harm in me doing the same. Would the cloak be enough to cover the cost of at least one of the rings?"

"With what you have already paid, most certainly," the man said cryptically, placing the moonstone ring in a small velvet case. "And as for your companion's purchase?"

George didn't really have much he could think of, except…

"I don't suppose you would take these enchanted boots, would you?" he asked, looking down at what he was wearing. The boy shrugged. "I know they're common in _Mahoutokoro,_ but…"

"Well let's have a look then, shall we?" the man allowed, kneeling to look at the boots more closely. "…an Aozaki-made item, is it? How _positively_ rare. I think that should suffice for an even exchange, especially as you are buying a gift for a young lady."

"Ah, Georg-san, you don't have to give up your boots!" Kohaku protested. "I'm sure I can buy it myself."

"No, no, its fine. Really," George insisted, unlacing the boots and stepping out of them. "You've shown me so much of this city. The least I can do is give you something in return. And it's nice to go barefoot every once in a while."

"Mm," Asplund noted, as he placed the ring of hematite in a velvet case as well and handed _that_ to Fujou Kohaku. "So it can be. I suppose I don't need to remind you, Mister Weasley, that the world is a dangerous place, and never more so than when we think ourselves apart from it."

The man looked at him intently, as if conveying a hidden message to him, with George nodding, as it was good enough advice – something that Hillard had said too once upon a time.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Please do. And come again, if you desire."

It was only after he and Kohaku left the shop that George found himself somewhat puzzled, as the man had greeted him familiarly, but he'd never given the man his name.

"Did you tell him about me, Kohaku-san?" he asked, as he clutched the case containing his new ring of intangibility, eager to try it out again at the first opportunity. "You've said you've come here before."

"I didn't, Georg-san."

"Huh," the boy said thoughtfully, pausing in mid-stride. "That's…interesting…"


	5. Duel of the Fates

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 5** **.** _Duel of the Fates_

" _ **Protego totalum**_!"

As he desperately fed power into his area protection spell, hoping against hope it would hold in the face of the vortex of flame that threatened to consume him, Fred Weasley wondered just how he'd ended up in this situation.

…no, that was a lie.

He knew exactly how he'd ended up here, losing a desperate struggle against one of the most skilled _ofuda_ users at _Mahoutokoro –_ a certain Tsuchimikado Hokuto, granddaughter of the chairman of the Japanese Council of Magic _._ Not of course, that he'd known who she was when he'd challenged her, but by the time he had, it had been far too late to back out with his honor intact.

Especially since in his mind, to her – and the others watching – he was a skilled British wizard, a companion of their Potions Champion and a supposed hero in his own right. Besides, how could he call himself a proper Gryffindor if he failed to show the "daring, nerve, and chivalry" members of that house were supposed to possess?

As the redhead poured more and more of his magic into reinforcing his shield against the girl's fiery assault, however, he was beginning to regret his bit of bravado.

' _And to be honest, maybe I was just a_ little _sore about getting shown up by Matou.'_

It was the simple truth that the Weasley Twins were immensely talented individuals. Indeed, with their innate creativity, the adventures they'd been on and the training they'd received from the _Book of Spells,_ Fred and George stood head and shoulders above most of their peers at Hogwarts.

The only ones who had really been able to challenge them – or beat them – regularly were the other Stone Cutters. Of those, Hillard was the youngest known user of the Patronus Charm (and the protégé of legendary Auror Alastor Moody) and, Harry Potter, of course, was Harry Potter – the Boy-Who-Lived, Vanquisher of You-Know-Who and all that. Of Matou Shinji, they knew far less, though they understood that he hailed from the East, a land of arcane magic and ancient mysteries – and that it was likely his influence that had led Luna Lovegood – a girl who they'd once thought of as just an oddball – to become their equal.

Still, there had been at least the assumption of parity between them, so when Matou Shinji had come to the Weasley Twins for help with Potions, they'd agreed to do so only if he defeated them in battle – and then, with conditions. Fred and George had thought that, confronted with these unfavorable terms, Matou would go elsewhere, since two on one battle was generally a losing proposition for the one, meaning that they would not have to side with one of their comrades against another.

Yet in the face of every reasonable expectation, the boy from the east had accepted their challenge – and prevailed.

Even with the Twins acting as one, even with them preparing the battlefield in advance and otherwise stacking every possible advantage in their favor, Matou Shinji had defeated them handily, shrugging off their final trump card – a runic binding that should have stopped any wizard dead in his tracks – as if it had been nothing at all.

After their clash with Quirrell in first year, in which Sokaris had died and the Philosopher's Stone had been lost, Fred and George had resolved to become stronger, so they would never know such bitterness again.

…and yet it seemed despite their best efforts, every one of their comrades was surpassing them, one after another.

That fear had been confirmed during the nightmare of the Acromantulae raid, where Luna Lovegood – the newest of the Stone Cutters, who somehow shared Matou's knowledge of fusion – had unleashed a wave of flaming death upon the spiders – replicating the effects of something they'd spent weeks preparing in a single instant.

It was only in that moment that the Twins had realized just how hopelessly outclassed they were, how badly they needed some kind of edge so they wouldn't be left behind.

' _In hindsight, I'm glad we asked Matou to help us obtain familiars…and that he arranged for us to come to Japan with him. Still…'_

…having a familiar wouldn't be enough if one didn't have at least a basic level of competence without it.

In fact, as Fred had learned from reading what he could about the _youkai_ communities of Japan and the spirits who dwelled therein, one needed to have a certain level of strength to be accepted - to be chosen - by a magical creature as a _partner._

To him, that was something of a foreign concept, given there was a part of him that still thought of familiars as things you'd buy in a pet store, save for exceptions like the phoenix that had once been owned by Professor Dumbledore – a legendary creature for a legendary wizard.

No matter how far he'd come, what the public said about him, Fred knew he wasn't a figure of legend. He was nowhere near as powerful as the late Headmaster had been – certainly nowhere near as skilled – and he hadn't done anything miraculous like defeat the Killing Curse, so he'd never even considered that he might be chosen as a partner by a powerful magical creature.

To be in a land where this was not only not unusual, but was in fact the way most people obtained familiars was something Fred found utterly jarring, on top of the fact that not very many spoke English, and that the way people dressed, the food people ate, and more were very, very different.

In some ways, he was beginning to understand Matou's discomfort with Hogwarts, given how strange _Mahoutokoro_ was to him. Truthfully, he didn't think he'd ever quite get used to it, though the boy couldn't deny there were some benefits to being at _Mahoutokoro_. For one, here, he had a private room, as opposed to sharing with an entire dorm of others. Here, he had ready access to all manner of fabulous beasts, with even Lovegood's ramblings beginning to make sense as he read the few books in English. Here, he was meeting interesting people, seeing strange and powerful arts for the first time.

And on a purely mundane level, well…he couldn't fault the design of the school uniforms, which for females, at least, revealed quite a bit more in the way of shapely thighs and calves than Hogwarts school robes.

...as a hot-blooded teenage boy, he wasn't inclined to complain about this in the slightest.

But that was all rather beside the point, really, compared to the opportunities before him.

In the last few weeks, after the English practices he participated in as part of the condition for his room and board, Fred Weasley had joined his conversation partners at their Dueling Club sessions, hoping to learn a thing or two himself.

Mostly he'd stood or sat on the sidelines of the practice arenas and watched others spar, hoping to gain some insight on how Matou's abilities compared with those of others his age. He'd thought to determine what an average practitioner of the Eastern Arts would be like, only he found he had no real idea, given how _different_ their styles of combat were, and how little he'd had to go by. Worse, he'd been unable to pick up much, if anything about how to counter _ofuda_ , or the other arts they used. The only thing he'd really learned was that Eastern practitioners didn't seem to use their wands very much, nor did they tend to use fire to destroy their foes' _ofuda_ , which he found curious since it was such an obvious weakness.

Was it taboo to do so, much as deliberately seeking to destroy a duelist's wand would be in Britain?

Matou hadn't ever reacted as if that were the case, but perhaps his fellow Stone Cutter had just gotten used to how things worked in Britain.

Had they all taken precautions against the destruction of their _ofuda?_

He knew Matou had begun working on such, but in the three years he'd known the younger boy, Matou hadn't come up with anything effective.

Perhaps the wizards of _Mahoutokoro_ had come up with something Matou hadn't, given their greater focus on their craft?

' _Well, only one way to find out, I suppose…'_

Though he had to admit that his desire to test his hypothesis was only part of his reason for wanting to duel an Eastern practitioner, as there was a part of him that wanted to see how _his_ skills compared to those who had studied here. He'd done quite well for himself in Britain after all - but how would his experience translate against a duelist skilled in another Art entirely? He didn't know, and that made him hesitate just a bit. That and he hadn't wanted to rudely interrupt the usual cycle of duels. He didn't know the language well enough to ask to be added to the lineup, and he was fairly sure that if he just cut in, it might be seen as offensive.

So Fred had waited for an opportunity to arise.

Soon enough, one came, when a beautiful girl showed up to the club one day, clad in the white blouse and skirt ensemble of advanced _Mahoutokoro_ students. She was about his height, with delicate features, raven-colored hair falling to her slender waist and almond-colored eyes that seemed very kind. In short, she didn't seem like the type of person who would ever be found on a battlefield.

Yet from the way the room fell silent at her arrival, with uneasy looks being passed between the regulars as she arrived, he could tell she was someone who commanded their respect – or least their fear.

She had asked something of the club's instructor, an older man with greying hair dressed in a traditional training _gi._ Fred couldn't quite make out exactly what she'd said, given that he didn't know Japanese, but it was plain enough that she was looking for someone, possibly a "Peverell-dono", whoever that was. The instructor had shaken his head though, causing a hint of weary disappointment to cross the girl's features as she looked about the room, only to pause as her eyes fell upon Fred Weasley as he sat against the arena wall.

"Who are you?" she'd asked in a voice clear as a bell, her eyes seeming to pierce through his soul as his heart skipped a beat.

Surprised the girl had noticed him, the Weasley boy had stood and stepped forward.

"Fred Weasley, at your service," he'd said, introducing himself with a gallant bow. "A companion to the Champion of Hogwarts, Matou Shinji."

"Ah," the girl had answered, regarding the boy with curiosity, as finely crafted robes of wyvernhide were not entirely commonplace – especially not among students. "Then, might you know Peverell-dono? I believe he trained your Champion once."

"I'm afraid not," Fred had admitted, filing away the little tidbit as the girl's lips tightened ever so slightly at his words.

Not wanting to bring a frown to such a lovely face, he pressed on, flashing the girl his most charming smile. "But if you're looking for a sparring partner, I would be more than happy to take his place."

"Hm." The girl had nodded brusquely, her expression going blank as she palmed a number of _ofuda_. "In that case, I, Tsuchimikado Hokuto, will be your opponent."

Fred's face had gone blank at her declaration, as he recognized the name Tsuchimikado. How could he not when the name of Tsuchimikado Masaaki, the head of the Japanese Council of Magic, was on the contract he'd signed on coming to _Mahoutokoro_?

' _Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?'_

Still, there'd been nothing for it but to charge headlong into the breach, with the boy tossing a pack of cards into the air, transfiguring them into a swarm of drakes with a silent _Draconifors_ as the battle was joined.

The boy had struck first, his drakes surging forward even as the boy himself launched a shimmering volley of silent spells at his opponent, hoping something would connect.

The blue streaks of Knockback Jinxes.

The jagged green lightning of Verdimillious Tria.

The red bolts of the Disarming Charm.

And then, somehow, the girl had simply vanished.

' _What? Combat Apparition?!'_

But how was that possible? He hadn't heard the distinctive _crack_ of that particular ability, and only the very highest level—

"Kai!"

At the cry, Fred had whirled about, just in time for a crackling bullet of wind to slam into his chest and _explode_ into blades of razor wind, slamming him through his transfigured drakes, and down onto the floor, with his vision going momentarily white from the force of impact.

' _I feel like I was just hit by a stray Bludger…'_

He'd twisted to regain his footing, but before he could get up, his drakes – the very creatures he had created earlier – set upon him with in a frenzy, forcing him to return them to their original forms with a mumbled untransfiguration spell.

And as they did, the boy had witnessed the chilling specter of dozens of shadowy threads withdrawing to several _ofuda_ floating in the air.

' _Were those…how she took control of my drakes?'_

Still, if her abilities were based on _ofuda_ , he had an answer to those, and since the threads were withdrawing, they likely couldn't take control of _him._

" _Incendio!"_ he'd cried as the teen surged to his feet, a wave of fire pouring forth from his wand to incinerate the paper talismans _._

For a moment, it seemed that it had worked, with the _ofuda_ blazing with light…but then the flames flickered out, with Fred looking up, startled, to see his opponent shaking her head _._

"Huh?"

The boy had only moments to react before a vortex of shadowy flames flashed into being around him, the sheer heat and fury of it almost enough to drop him where he stood.

" _ **Protego totalum**_!" he'd roared, a shield rippling into existence to oppose the swirling force of destruction all around him, a thin layer of protection maintained only by his magic.

Which was how he'd come to be where he was now, desperately pouring power into the shield to keep the encroaching tongues of hellfire away.

' _It's not fiendfyre, else I'd be dead...'_

A thought that was little comfort when a single slip in his concentration would cause his protections to flicker out, leaving him helpless in the face of the blaze.

But how long he would have held his defenses quickly became irrelevant as crackling spheres of wind ripped through his barrier and _exploded_ , with the boy covering his face as the flames rushed inwards all at once, blowing him across the room with a concussive blast of heat and light.

With a _thud,_ he was slammed into the wall, leaving him stunned.

Fred tried to stand, tried to move, tried to do anything at all, but his body would not obey. Everything _hurt_. There wasn't a single part of his body that didn't. It felt as if every bone in his body had been shattered, every organ crushed to a pulp.

It was even becoming difficult to breathe.

He would have laughed, if he could, as more _ofuda_ appeared from out of thin air, with threads of shadow emerging from them and slipping through the opening in his dragonhide robes to pierce his eyes – the window of the soul.

The boy thought he felt something foreign flow into his body, but he couldn't tell what. He tried to open his mouth, but couldn't. His voice was gone. His will was gone. His body was lost to him, no longer his to control as his breathing stopped entirely.

"This match is over," his opponent intoned, in her cool, musical tones.

The last thing Fred saw before everything finally went black was the sight of his beautiful assailant, and how, despite winning such a crushing victory, she'd seemed…oddly _disappointed_.

 _'I just wish...I could have made her smile.'_

* * *

" _Urgh…."_

With a muffled groan, Fred Weasley awoke in a room of pure white, with the utter lack of smells and the fact that he was wearing a patient gown giving away the fact that he was in a hospital. At present, everything felt numb – though the boy considered this a substantial improvement from everything being in pain.

He looked around, seeing that his clothing had been placed on a chair beside his bed, and that he had no bruising, or other visible injuries. For that matter, he could even see perfectly, which was unexpected after those...shadows had stabbed into his eyes.

Gingerly at first, then greedily, he breathed in and out, in and out, drawing in a greedy lungful of air, and exhaling, almost sobbing in joy when he found that his body was working once more.

' _I'm…alive…'_

It didn't seem possible after the sheer brutality of the duel he'd just experienced, an encounter that put his clashes with Matou to shame, but somehow he was.

"Tsuchimikado," he whispered, shaking his head ruefully. He'd thought, as the shadows had run him through and his body had _stopped_ , that he had been about to die – and in that instant, all he'd really felt was a sense of despair that he hadn't been able to make his foe smile.

That the last thing on earth he would see was the sight of a girl disappointed because of him.

At no time had the notion of being afraid of…dying actually crossed his mind.

Not then, and not now, that he was safe.

He almost laughed at the absurdity of it – no, he did laugh, as heartily as he could manage, and felt all the better for it. To have moved beyond the fear of death was something not even You-Know-Who had been able to claim.

' _They say a true Gryffindor should be able to laugh in the face of death, but this…'_

It was more than a bit ridiculous for him to be more concerned about how a beautiful girl felt in the moment before he passed away than the fact he had been about to die – to be concerned about the very girl who he thought about to slay him, no less.

' _I must have hit my head harder than I thought. Merlin. What would George say if he saw me like this?'_

Just as he thought that, a knocking sounded at the door.

 _'Oh, George already?'_

"Come in," he said, wondering how his brother could have heard of what happened. It was either him or Matou, after all, and he hadn't seen Matou in over a week.

Only, when the door opened, his visitor was neither of those, but instead, someone he'd never seen in his life: a handsome teenage boy a few years older than he, with pale skin, jet black hair, and eerie red eyes.

"Good afternoon, Mister Weasley," the older teen said in greeting. "First off, I wanted to apologize for what happened during your unfortunate duel with Hokuto."

"Eh, no need," Fred replied, waving off the man's apology. "It's not as if it was your fault I ended up here."

The older youth chuckled.

"Actually, there you'd be wrong," he corrected. "You see, my name is Tomas Peverell. Known to some as 'Peverell-dono.'"

"…you were the one that the Tsuchimikado girl was looking for," the Weasley twin realized, chuckling in his own right. "She's…" The boy groped for words, but only shook his head as he was unable to come up with anything suitable. "…she's something…"

"She is that," Tomas confirmed, smiling ever so slightly. "Don't feel too bad about losing to Hokuto, Mister Weasley. The Tsuchimikado heiress is an exceptionally talented witch, one of the most skilled in all of _Mahoutokoro_. If she has one failing however, it's that she's not good with judging the strength of Western wizards. But then, she hasn't faced very many. Aside from yourself, the only one she's ever faced is me. And I usually win."

Fred took a moment to digest the other's words.

"…you usually win," he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Which means what she came at me with was meant for you? And you still best her, despite...?"

"Usually," Tomas noted with a smirk. "I will say that the way she bested me the first time was similar to how she bested you."

"Oh?"

"I once thought that defeating _ofuda_ -using enemies would be as simple as destroying their _ofuda_. But as it turned out, even I could still be surprised every now and then. Hence my standing appointment with Hokuto. She keeps me on my toes."

"I see," Fred said quietly, finding all of this a little hard to take in. "Do you mind if I ask a question?"

"You already have, but feel free to ask another."

"The way she moved," the Weasley boy recalled, remembering how she had just vanished before his eyes, only to apparently reappear behind him. "It was like she was Apparating around the battlefield. I know it's possible, in theory, but from what I've read, only the most skilled wizards can use Apparition in battle." The boy looked down. "Not that I'd know. I don't even know how to Apparate yet. Just finished my O.W.L.s, as a matter of fact."

"I see. Well, that I can answer," the puppet replied. "What she uses – what many Eastern wizards and witches do, in fact – isn't Apparition."

"It's not?" Fred asked, blinking.

"No, its not. The name of the technique they use translates to flow-walking, and that's as good a name as any," Tomas explained. "Functionally, it's similar to apparition, but requires much less concentration, as it is less a matter of visualizing exactly where you need to go, and more a matter of following a path you've laid out beforehand."

"I don't understand."

"When you think of _Ofuda_ , you probably think about the power they offer, correct? And of course, the tactical flexibility they allow."

The Weasley boy nodded.

"What you probably don't think about is how someone like Matou can activate his _ofuda_ from a distance without using any words at all. You see, _ofuda_ are imbued with part of a practitioner's magic. As such, there is a spiritual path between the two pools of magic, one that allows the greater portion to order the other - or to go to it. This applies to every _ofuda_ created."

"So what you're saying is, anywhere she lays ofuda, she can app—flow-walk?" Fred asked incredulously, feeling a chill go down his spine at the thought of how powerful such an ability could be. If Matou had ever used that...they wouldn't have stood a chance.

"Essentially."

"But how come I didn't her see her lay down any _ofuda_?"

"Mister Weasley, when one is skilled enough at using wind magic, or disillusionment, one can render things invisible. This includes _ofuda_."

"…huh, that's…I didn't think about that," Fred admitted. "…but if she can do that, how can _you_ keep up with her? Assuming you don't use _ofuda,_ that is."

"That's simple," the puppet replied with a wry smile. "Combat Apparition."

Fred's jaw dropped open at the other's words, working open and closed for a few moments before the boy forced it shut with an audible click.

"Combat Apparition, you say," the Weasley twin repeated, shaking his head. By appearances, this Tomas Peverell did not seem much older than he was, but if he was telling the truth...that made him an incredibly skilled wizard, matching the likes of Moody, or even You-Know-Who. Then the older teen's earlier words fully registered and his eyes narrowed, as he recalled something his opponent had said. "You mentioned Matou. Did you train him, perhaps?"

"Him and young Mister Potter, both," Tomas noted.

"Funny, they've never mentioned you," the Weasley boy said quietly.

"I'm hardly surprised," the puppet stated dryly. "While my teaching is effective, it is hardly a pleasant experience, though I will say it is certainly more so than Hokuto's tender mercies."

"I see."

"Which brings me to the second reason I have for visiting," Tomas intoned, with Fred sitting up as the puppet looked at him with his cold red eyes. "On hearing that Mister Potter was once again in _Mahoutokoro,_ I was expecting that he would partake of my tutelage once more, but it seems he has chosen otherwise."

"What does that have to do with me?" Fred asked, wondering if the older teen was saying what the Weasley boy thought he was saying.

"I looked up your file while you were unconscious, Mister Weasley," the puppet noted. "According to it, you are interested in securing a familiar for yourself, correct?"

"Yes."

"You are aware that _youkai_ respect strength, I presume?"

"I am."

"And you are aware of how dangerous some can be, I'm sure? Of the fact that many of the creatures you seek have spell resistance, and cannot be easily defeated by simple charms?"

"…that I did not know."

"If you desire, I would be willing to train you in a few things, as I once did for your colleagues. Consider it an apology for my tardiness, and the resultant…inconvenience to you."

Fred swallowed.

"…if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"None at all."


	6. Everything's Alright

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 6** **.** _Everything's Alright_

Quietly, eyes were slowly opened, as the boy once named Matou Shinji stirred from his reverie, feeling better rested than he'd had in what seemed like a lifetime. His lips quirked as he glanced around, taking in the way sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating his rather familiar surroundings, with him idly noting that despite the presence of the sun, the morning was brisk, almost cold.

Not that he much minded the chill. For him, such a thing didn't exist – not when he was sharing a bed with a lover, their warm bodies tangled together under thin satin sheets.

It wasn't the first time they'd had to share a bed, given the necessities of the journey they'd gone on together the year. Going with her to seek a familiar had been an experience he would never forget for as long as he lived.

' _Much like the night before, really_.'

An easy smile stole across his lips as the boy sighed and looked down at the form of the girl snuggled comfortably against him, her long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders and onto his chest, finding the heady warmth of her utterly intoxicating.

' _So beautiful_ ,' he thought, feeling a surge of affection and desire as his fingers trailed sensually down her bare spine and over the gentle curve of her hip, exploring the landscape of her body.

He didn't just mean that in a physical sense either, though he took pleasure from the smoothness of her skin and the way his touch made her sigh and try to snuggle even closer to him. The way she saw the world, the way she accepted the strangeness of everything around her, the way she spoke, the way she _was_ , really – everything about her was beautiful to him.

' _It's odd really, how little seems to surprise her, and how easily she fits into the world of moonlight.'_

And of course, there was how she saw him – not as a failure, not as a pawn, and not as an idol or a mysterious "boy from the east" – but just as who he was, a person with strengths and a few inspiring qualities, yes, but also a great number of flaws, infirmities, and weaknesses – and how she _loved_ him anyway.

That someone knew the real him, that someone knew the boy beneath the façade, the one who wasn't as strong, or knowing, or in control as he tried to pretend – and still accepted him into her heart was something that brought a sense of wonder to _his._

"I love you," he whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, his hands coming to rest at last upon the small of her back.

"I love you too," came the sleepy reply, as his lover stirred, looking up at him with dreamy, half lidded eyes, her cool breath on the skin of his neck sending shivers down his spine. "Morning," she murmured, sliding up his body to plant slow, lazy kisses on the hollow of his throat.

"G-g-good…m-m-morning, Luna," the boy gasped, barely able to speak in the face of the pleasure of her touch. The sensation of her lips on his skin, her fingers reaching up to stoke his cheek, her _everything_ rubbing against his was overwhelming, as he wriggled and writhed and moaned.

Still, two could play at that game, with Shinji's fingers beginning to roam once more, brushing aside her hair to brush the skin of her neck and her shoulders, before tracing delicate circles along her spine. And as her kisses became hotter, more insistent at his ministrations, he leaned over and pursed his lips, gently exhaling a stream of air over the arch of her ear.

"Ahhhh…"

She moved in counterpoint to his touches, her body writhing and twisting and squirming under the impetus of his caresses, as she shifted until she was astride his hips.

As one, they reached for one another, arching together as their lips met with a desperate, hungry kiss.

* * *

Sometime later the two lay cuddled together in the lazy morning glow, nestled against one another side by side, her back against his chest, with his arms wrapped protectively around his lover, his fingers idly playing with her navel and the crease of her thighs

"I love you," Shinji whispered, nuzzling Luna's neck as he reveled in the scent of her with every breath he took.

"I love you too," the blonde sighed, a reply that Shinji felt as much as heard. It was a rather pleasant sensation, he found. "I'm glad you finally came. Even if I didn't think you'd come without bringing anything at all. Even pajamas."

"Heh…well…I came here by magic, you know. I didn't know what waited for me on the other side of the portal," the boy said, chuckling sheepishly as he remembered how he hadn't exactly been a paragon of forethought. "I only knew it would take me to where you were."

"Mm," she sighed, snuggling against her lover. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," Shinji said quietly as he held her close. An odd thought occurred to him as he considered the multiple meanings behind her words. "Though just where are we? And what did you mean _finally_ came?"

"Somewhere in Tahiti," she explained in a dreamy voice, as she rested her forehead against his. "Dad and I were in Brazil for a while, but we came here after a month. And well, I saw it in one of my dreams. You, appearing on a beach of black sand, like magic."

Shinji just chuckled and shook his head.

"Well, magic is right, though I'm beginning to think that your dreams of what might be are always far more pleasant than mine."

For a moment, only silence lay between them, until she turned in his embrace, so that her silvery eyes stared into his grey, full of an emotion he couldn't quite make out.

"Not always," she murmured against his lips.

"Oh?"

Luna Lovegood shook her head and sighed as Shinji's arms tightened around her.

"There was a dream I had some time ago," she recalled, her expression clouded and distant. "I saw you in fusion form in a cavern of sorts, standing over a pit of strange-looking worms."

Shinji stiffened, his insides feeling cold and heavy as lead at her words.

"…worms, you say?" he managed, trying his best to keep any hint of the rising panic he felt from his voice. "What-what do you mean?"

Had she…had she seen the one part of his past that was his secret shame? The one part of him he had never shared with anyone in detail? He'd never even told his Master, or even Sokaris, everything about his past, though he was sure they already knew anyway.

"Worms," she confirmed, shivering as if what she had seen disturbed her greatly. "And a monster made of worms," she added after a moment. Her eyes cleared and focused on his as she whispered two more words – two words he had hoped never to hear from anyone, much less from Luna: "Your grandfather."

Shinji felt something very much like despair well up within him, as he felt his world – what was left of it, teetering on the edge of destruction.

"I see." he said sadly, pulling away. "You know everything then."

No matter how much Luna had already accepted about the worlds he inhabited, he didn't know if even _she_ could fully understand his past and all the horror of it. If anyone not born into the moonlit world truly could.

Or at least he tried to pull away, except that he was stopped by the sensation of her leg sliding over his, and her arms wrapping around his neck, with her body glowing softly with yang energy as it flowed into him, soothing him, easing his tension.

"Not everything," she whispered in a fey voice. "Unless you want to tell me."

"I, Luna…it's…" the boy swallowed uneasily. "…it's a long story, and not a very nice one. Not the beginning, not the middle, and not what happened before I came here. You don't want to hear it, I'm sure."

"I do."

"…why?" he asked, not sure why anyone would want to hear his tale of woe. Especially not when – at the end – he'd cast off his name and family, tossed away everything he had worked for, by his own free will.

"Because it's your story, and I love you," was Luna's answer, "even the parts of you that you don't think anyone knows or cares about."

"I…I don't know…"

"You accepted me, defended me, when everyone else thought of me as Loony Lovegood," she said, her eyes remarkably clear as her warmth surrounded him. "You showed me new worlds and new possibilities. You shared secrets with me, and I've shared all of myself with you. You can tell me anything."

"…if you insist," Shinji sighed, shaking his head. "You won't like what you're about to hear, you know. I'm…I'm not a good person. Not really…not as much as I…as I pretend to be. And the world I'm part of – the world you only know the surface of – is far darker than anything wizards have to deal with."

"Let me be the judge of that."

"…alright," the boy said reluctantly, mentally steeling himself for a revelation of this sort. "I guess the first thing you should know is that practitioners of witchcraft aren't the only people in the world with special powers. There are others out there. Magicians. Magi. Psychics. Demon hybrids. And more besides…"

"My family – what used to be my family – the Matous, were an ancient lineage of magi. Magi don't…they don't have an inhuman ancestry."

"How can they use magic then?" Luna asked.

"Something called Magic Circuits," the boy explained, his words bitter as ash in his mouth. "Spiritual pathways that a person can open to channeling magical energy and perform mysteries."

"Do you have Circuits, then?"

Shinji winced, as her question pierced him, making him feel as if he'd been stabbed in the chest.

"…no. After the Matou came to Japan, the lineage weakened, slowly dying out. My uncle was the first in generations to have enough Circuits to use magecraft, but he left the family, running away from his responsibilities. My…my…" He grimaced, drawing a slow, shuddering breath. "Matou Byakuya took his place as head. He married a woman with an inheritor trait, so that the family might have an heir."

"Oh?"

"That woman was my mother, and she died because I was a failure," the boy whispered hoarsely. "Grandf—Matou Zouken threw her to the worms, who ate her alive because I had no Magic Circuits. From the moment I was born, I was worthless. No, worse than that, I was a reminder of just how far the family had fallen."

"What about your sister?" Luna probed gently.

"My…my…hahahahahahahaha," Shinji burst out laughing – or was it sobbing – at the mention of the late Matou Sakura. He laughed for a minute straight, two minutes, more, until his throat hurt and he couldn't laugh anymore. "She's not…" he began when he speak without laughing again. "She wasn't ever really my sister."

"Then what was she?"

"My replacement," he said simply. "Everything that might have been mine became hers when she was adopted into the Matou family. I didn't know that for a while. I thought she…was the same as me. That her family had thrown her away. And then I found out that I had it all wrong. They didn't throw her away. Mine threw me away. Me. The true son of the Matou family. And all because of an accident of birth that gave Tohsaka Sakura circuits."

"Tohsaka…?" Luna asked. "Isn't that your childhood friend's…"

"Yeah. She was Rin's sister," Shinji admitted. "You know, for a long time, I envied Tohsaka. I wanted her. I wanted to be her. Because she…she had everything." He chuckled. "Magic Circuits. Ownership of a spiritual land. Freedom. She _was_ someone." The boy shook his head. "She'd never give me the time of day, either. Well, not until I left for Hogwarts, anyway."

"Oh?"

The boy thought back to the moment when the owl had come through his window three years ago, delivering his Hogwarts letter. That moment was the point at which everything had changed for him, the beginning of his tale.

"To be honest, I…I only began learning the Eastern Arts three years ago," he murmured, recalling how he had felt to see _Mahoutokoro_ for the first time. "I'm not a master of the eastern arts. That's…compared to those who have studied it for their entire lives, or who are true students of it, I'm…I'm a fraud."

"Except for being able to fuse with Zelkova?"

"…maybe I'm not a fraud _anymore_ , thanks to Matsuo-san, Sajyou-san, Zelkova, and you," Shinji said dryly. "But when I first came to Hogwarts, I was. I wanted more than anything else for people to recognize me, to think of me as special, so I showed them two spells and let them think I could do far more. That Shinji…that me, it's a lie."

"Is that why you befriended Harry Potter and taught him what you knew?" Luna inquired, looking curiously at him.

"…I shouldn't be surprised that you're so perceptive, should I?" the boy asked, shaking his head. "Yes. That's why I made friends with him. At least to start with. Well, ok, I also felt sorry for him, since he grew up unwanted too."

"Mm. And what really happened with the troll?" the girl asked, smiling ever so slightly. "Somehow, I'm not sure the story everyone tells is the truth."

"You mean the one where Harry gathered us all together and led us against the stone beast, as true heroes wholly without fear?" Shinji quipped, smiling despite himself. "Yeah, that's a lie too." The boy's smile sagged and vanished as he recalled the vicious prank wars of first year, and the torment that had been inflicted upon Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw during those long two months. "We were all scared. To be honest, we were only there because…well…because we'd been setting up traps and pranks to get one another."

"And then the troll came."

"Then the troll came," Shinji repeated, swallowing at the memory of that vicious beast. "Hillard was the first one to raise his wand against it, since he was between it and the Great Hall. The Weasleys were next. They told us to run." He shook his head. "But Harry didn't. His parents died on Halloween, many years ago, and he wasn't about to let anyone else die – not if he could help it. And if he wasn't running…"

"Yes?"

Shinji's smile was a bitter thing indeed.

"It would have been a bad thing if I had. If he'd died – if Hillard and others had died – what would I have left? So I fought, and somehow…we won."

"You became the Stone Cutters."

"…we did."

"And Sokaris? She was one of you, wasn't she? And she was…dear to you."

"She was," Shinji admitted. "Is. Always will be. She was the best of us, frankly. That first year…well, she held up my world, in a way. Without her, I would never have found the Room of Hidden Things. And without her…well, I can't talk about that. You know, in some ways, she was like you. Someone who was an outsider, who knew her own mind, and didn't care what other people thought. Someone who cultivated her own skills, moved in her own circles, believed strongly in who she was and what she knew. Like you, she was…she was…"

"She was…?"

" _Beautiful_ ," the boy whispered, bringing a hand up to cup Luna's cheek, as the girl sighed contently at his touch. "I can't talk about the end of the year. If there was anyone I would talk to about it, it would be you, but I can't."

"Mm. I understand."

"Not much happened the second year. It's…the third year where things..." He groped for words, not sure exactly what to say. "…went awry…" he settled on at last. "Mostly outside of Hogwarts, if I'm being honest. During the winter."

"With one of your friends?"

"With Illyasviel von Einzbern," Shinji replied. "She's from a powerful family of magi. Old enemies of my own."

"Like in _Romeo and Juliet?"_

"…admittedly, yes," the boy said. "Once they were friends. They even worked together hundreds of years ago, but…things went wrong, and they've fought bitterly ever since. I let them believe I was their heir to my family and, with some help, I managed to get Ilya to be my guest for an event that Christmas."

"She mentioned that, yes," Luna noted. "She said you were the only person who ever treated her like a girl instead of a tool. That you were kind. But then you're often kind to people."

"Luna, I'm…" Shinji shook his head, not wanting to argue. "Anyway, to make a long story short, if she stayed with her family, she had a role to play that would kill her in a few years. I…I should have told her to go back for the sake of peace, but I didn't want her to suffer. I wanted her to be happy. To smile like a girl should be able to. And so I told her to take a leap of faith. Because of me, she made a choice to live – and I…and I…"

He broke off, unable to continue, his body shaking with silent sobs.

"What happened?" Luna whispered, her fingers stroking his back soothingly.

"This summer, I went to tell my family about…everything," the boy said after some time. "That was about a week ago, and it was the scene I think you saw. My grandfather called a traitor to the family, tried to kill me. I…I fought back. I couldn't win, so I…I threatened to kill my sister unless he let me go unharmed. He disowned me, but let me live."

"And then what?"

"…and the next day, the Einzbern came. Because of me. Because I didn't…"

"You did what you thought was right."

"And for what?" the boy cried out. "My family – what used to be my family. They're dead. Because of me. Because of something I did. I don't know why I'm this…upset. I was willing to kill my _sister_ myself, wasn't I? But…"

"But you didn't.

"Huh?"

"You didn't kill her."

"It doesn't matter. She's dead now. I don't know how I'll tell Tohsaka. I don't think they were close, but they were sisters. I…what should I do? I'm not their heir of a powerful family. I don't even belong to a family anymore. I don't…I don't really have anyone, anymore. So you see. Matou Shinji is dead. I'm a boy without a name. Without family. Without anyone."

' _Except Sokaris…but sometimes, she feels so far away…'_

"You have me," Luna Lovegood said, as her arms wrapped around him tightly and she pressed herself against his cold body.

"Luna, I…" but he couldn't say anything.

"Whatever you call yourself. Whatever you've done. Wherever you're going, I'll stay by your side," the girl whispered into his ear. "Even if you think you're a fraud. Even if it means my end. I'm yours."

"Why…?"

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, painfully fast and loud, as warmth flooded through him.

"You see yourself as a failure, but I see a boy who has worked hard to be anything but. You see someone who hurts those around him, but I see a boy who is kinder than anyone else."

"Luna…"

"You say you don't care about people, but you do – more than you can admit, even to yourself, so much that it hurts you. You say your life is a lie, that you're nothing but a coward fraud, but you're the bravest boy I know. At the end of everything, you can't hide who you are. And that's what matters to me. What I see."

"And who am I then, Luna?" Shinji asked seriously, as he didn't know if he could believe that. "What do you see when you look at me?"

Her answer surprised him, even if it really shouldn't have.

"I see a boy who made friends with an orphan – and stayed friends with him when everyone else turned against him for it. I see a boy who stood against a troll because he didn't want his friend to die, even though he was scared out of his mind. I see a boy who loved a girl so much he wanted to die for her, and who treasures her memory more than anything else. I see a boy who sat with a girl on the train, who didn't think she was looney, and defended her when no one else would. I see a boy who stood up for a ghost because he couldn't stand seeing someone being made fun of – who went out of his way to help grant that ghost's dearest wish, even though it gave him nothing in return."

"You…you remember that?" Shinji whispered. He'd nearly forgotten what happened with Nearly-Headless Nick himself…

"I see a boy who invited a girl to his homeland and through his presents, showed her that she wasn't just imagining things – that the world was more magical, more special than anyone ever told her. I see a boy who bought someone a house because she needed it, not because she asked for it, or because he wanted her hand in marriage. I see a boy who helped a girl to be happy for the first time in her life since she lost her dad and mum, a boy who danced with a girl and told her to live, even though it cost him everything. I see a boy who is so loyal to those he trusts, to those he really cares about, that he would die before he betrayed them or let them come to harm."

"I…"

"I see the boy I love," she concluded. "The boy in my arms. The boy holding me. The boy who stepped through a portal to come to across many miles, not knowing where I was or what he'd be stepping into. The boy whose first instinct after losing everything was to find me. The boy who shared himself, all of himself – with me."

"Are you sure you want to love me, Luna?" Shinji asked, though he held her tight, as if she was the only solid in the whole world, not ever wanting to let her go. "I don't even know who I am. Not now, not after…"

Luna Lovegood silenced her lover with a tender kiss.

"Then we'll find out," she said, her silvery eyes intent and focused as they looked dreamily into his. "Together."

"Together," he repeated warmly, as he leaned forward, capturing her lips with his as they shared themselves once more.


	7. On Stranger Tides

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 7** **.** _On Stranger Tides_

With a strip of cloth tied over his eyes and his wand held tightly in his hand, the boy from the east stretched his senses to their limit as he tried to figure out what was around him, or where to go, to no avail, as the sound of the wind blowing in from the sea and the lapping of waves on the shore drowned out anything meaningful he could glean.

' _Funny how the world seemed so different in the sun…'_

Even the prana he'd released was proving less than helpful, as it strained impatiently at him, as if it was unwilling to simply remain still and let him read the patterns of the world around him. The longer he waited, the more it threatened to go out of control, twisting, roiling, spinning, as he took a step forward—

 _Sploosh!_

—only to lose his footing as the ground beneath him gave way, with the hapless boy plunging through the surface with a colossal splash.

Almost immediately, he was seized by the current, with his mouth opened wide in shock, bubbles of precious air streaming from his lips as he flailed about wildly for several seconds, trying to resist its pull, before he forcibly stilled himself.

' _Calm. I have to stay calm.'_

He reached up with his free hand, pulling the blindfold from his face so he could orient himself towards the surface above, the boundary layer tween water and air gleaming with the silver light of the moon, the dappled illumination it provided revealing a strange and alien world, where fish and other creatures darted among the corals below, staring up at the stranger in their midst.

With a powerful scissor kick, he shot upwards, drawing in a greedy lungful of air as he broke through to the world above.

' _Ugh. That's five times now. And this isn't getting any easier…'_ the boy thought to himself as he treaded water, shaking his head.

"Need a hand?" a dreamy voice spoke from beside him, with Shinji looking up to see that Luna Lovegood, clad in a garment of pure white and glowing from within with yang prana, a tiaré flower tucked above her left ear, had walked out over the water to where he was and was reaching down to him.

He sighed, but reached up anyway, with the girl taking his hand and pulling him upwards, giving him the opening he needed to project _prana_ from his feet and subtly change the consistency of the water beneath him so he could climb up onto the surface.

"Thanks," the boy said, a look of chagrin coming over his features as he shook his head. Before he could say anything else, however, he felt the cool night air someplace it definitely should not be, since he was wearing shorts – or at least, he had been before he fell in this time. _'Oh no. Don't tell me.'_ He looked down, only to go beet red as he saw his worst fears confirmed. _'…and I even lost my pāreu_. _Damnit. This sounded like such a good idea earlier…_ '

"You don't have to be embarrassed," his companion replied quietly, her lips curving into a smile as her gaze roamed over his wet body. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"…that is entirely beside the point," Shinji muttered, looking away. His companion only laughed, a quiet sound with no ill intent in it, only a sense of amusement. "Sorry. I just…I'm just annoyed I keep failing. I even…well, you know."

"It's quite alright," the girl murmured, closing her eyes and stretching out her free hand, whispering something he couldn't quite make out. He could feel her prana all around him, in the air, in the water, on his skin, its touch delicate, ebbing and flowing like the tide. "Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect."

At her words, light bloomed from under the water, and slowly, something rose from the depths, coming closer, closer, closer still, until it broke the surface and Shinji could see that it was his lost _pāreu._

"…that wasn't the Summoning Charm," Shinji spoke quietly, raising an eyebrow as garment rose into the air and was claimed by Luna's waiting hand.

"Not exactly, no," the girl agreed, but said no more as she let go of his hand.

Suddenly bereft of the stabilizing effect of his companion's prana, the boy almost toppled facefirst into the water once more, barely managing to lurch upright by releasing more of his own prana – and even then, he still found himself wobbling back and forth.

"Hold still, if you can," Luna suggested in her dreamy tones, with the girl kneeling before him with the _pāreu_ in hand as she hummed a gentle melody.

"Luna, what are…?" he asked uneasily, his words trailing off in a gasp as her fingers found him. He fought to keep his balance – and his composure – as her hands moving over his body, touching him rather intimately as she began to wrap the cloth she carried about his waist and legs. "I can…"

As his mind wandered, he nearly stumbled, with Luna pressing a hand to his stomach to steady him.

"Concentrate," the girl whispered, as her fingers continued her delicate work, sending shivers of pleasure across his skin wherever they brushed. "Not on me, not on what I'm doing, but on the ebb and flow of the water around you." To the boy's credit, he tried, but the sensation of her breath, hot on his cold skin, made him tremble, his eyes closing as he fought to stay standing, lost in the pleasure. Perhaps wisely, the girl said no more, focusing on the folding and tying, until at last she stood, tucking in the ends of the cloth to reveal a perfectly serviceable set of shorts.

Pāreu, after all, were simply rectangles of cloth that formed the basis of the traditional garments worn by Tahitian men, women, and children – cotton sheets that could be worn as a skirt, a dress, or even as a shirt or loincloth, with the last not dissimilar to _fundoshi –_ traditional Japanese undergarments. Which meant that though he'd come to her with nothing but the clothes on his back, she'd been able to lend him something more appropriate – even if he thought she took a bit too much amusement out of tying the garment for him each morning and watching his reactions – much as she was doing now.

The boy gasped as Luna's fingers trailed from his waist up his stomach, until her hand came to rest on his chest, and she leaned against him, the exotic sensation of her _prana_ mingling with his to keep them both stable on the surface of the water.

"Your first element was earth," she murmured quietly, reaching out to take his hand, with the boy doing so with a sigh. "Deliberate, patient, stable."

"It waits," Shinji recalled, cradling Luna against him with his free hand, "waits as long as it needs to for an opportunity, storing up power without end. It is the element of defense and focus, of solidity."

"Water is different," Luna whispered, rubbing her cheek against his bare chest as she spoke. "It has a pattern that must be matched, an ebb and flow, a rising and falling, a rhythm like life itself. Close your eyes and listen."

As he did so, as he felt the world falling away, except for the girl in his arms, with her warmth and vitality the only real thing that seemed to exist. He could feel her heart beating in time with his, their breathing matched, the way she shifted as the world shifted under them, and the way he moved with her, unconsciously, without even realizing it.

Her yang blended with his yin in an ever-shifting rhythm, like the swells and waves of the sea moving towards the shore, crashing on the sand and returning to the source, with variation upon variation playing out in beautiful fractal patterns that brought order out of chaos and chaos out of order.

The power of the spirit blended with the power of flesh, allowing him to see, to feel, to _understand_.

Water.

It wasn't just _below_ him – it was within him, within Luna, and in the air all around him.

It moved within him, flowed within him with every beat of his heart, at every level of his composition, bridging the inside and out with every breath he took.

His consciousness expanded, little by little, until he could _feel_ everything around him, seeing the way the patterns of life changed moment by moment, like nothing he had experienced outside fusion.

' _Of course…'_

Of course _prana_ infused in water would not be still, because water itself was not still, because the _prana_ he sent into the world carried part of his own pattern with it, and that was never truly still. Life itself had a hum, a vibration to it. Earth accepted these patterns, muted them in a sense, but water was the element of flows and combinations, ever changing in its way.

' _It's…like a dance…'_

What was within shaped that which was without, what was without that which was within, in a never-ending cycle. It wasn't about stillness at all, or deliberation, but _equilibrium_ , balance, being in the moment.

"Mm. You see," Luna murmured, with Shinji opening his eyes and leaning down to kiss the girl in his arms, who moaned in quiet pleasure at his touch.

"I see," he whispered, when their lips finally parted, her silver eyes looking into his grey with an expression of faint surprise. "Thank you."

Perhaps he was the first to move after that. Perhaps she was.

All they knew was slowly, their motions built, and soon they moved together in a dance as old as time, with the music of the wind and waves providing all the accompaniment they needed as they made their way across the shimmering surface of the ocean, gleaming in the pale moonlight.

* * *

It was not often that Xenophilius Lovegood could be surprised, given the strange things he believed in, the conspiracies he investigated, and more. Yet when he emerged from the rainforest after a few days exploring a sunken cave decorated with shells and corals, even the publisher of the Quibbler was taken aback by the presence of an unexpected visitor sitting with his daughter by the fire.

"I'm beginning to think you have a habit of showing up at the most unexpected places, Mister Matou," the man said as he strode into the clearing where Luna had pitched her tent. "I rather you thought you would be at _Mahoutokoro_ by now. Where have you come from?"

"Oh, from going to and fro on the earth, and from walking up and down on it," Luna quipped, with Xenophilius' lips quirking as he recognized the book from which she was quoting. "He came to me on the beach some nights ago, stepping from the air."

Luna's _kitsune_ familiar Pandora, who had been sniffing intently at a cookpot full of sliced up breadfruit, yipped in agreement.

"What she said," Shinji agreed, as it was accurate enough. "I…after some things that happened, I needed some time away. To think."

"…and to see my Luna," the man noted perceptively, given how close the two were sitting. He wasn't too worried, as he knew his daughter could take care of herself, and above all, he just wanted her to be happy. "Bit odd, how you knew to find your way out here."

This was, after all, not Tahiti Nui, the glamorous Tahiti of tourist brochures, but Tahiti Iti, the remote, untamed portion of the island accessible only to those travelling by boat or on foot, a wild land overflowing with clear streams, waterfalls, and hidden coves aplenty, along with ancient grottos, long-abandoned temples, and caves carved of wind and rain.

"How was it you put it?" Luna asked, looking at her companion with dreamy eyes. "You didn't know where you would end up, just that the path you took would take you to me?"

"…that's about right, yes," Shinji admitted, with Xenophilius raising an eyebrow at this. The two seemed closer than he remembered, but then again, it had been a while…

"Will you be staying long?" the man inquired after a few moments, choosing not to ask the other questions burning on his mind, even as he noticed that his daughter had a tiaré flower tucked behind her left ear – which in Polynesian tradition meant that the wearer was taken.

' _As long as she's happy, so am I…'_

"About a week," the boy said quietly. That was how long his leave was for, after all, and as much as he enjoyed this place, enjoyed simply being with Luna in this island paradise, he didn't think Matsuo-san would be generous enough to give him another week away from his duties. "I do need to get back to _Mahoutokoro_ for training soon enough _._ "

"Ah, that's right," Xenophilius murmured, recalling an article in the _Daily Prophet_ about the boy from the east having been chosen as Hogwarts' Champion for the Wizarding Schools Potions competition. "I presume you've been learning a few things while you're at _Mahoutokoro_? Couldn't hurt your chances."

"Maybe," Shinji grunted. "I'm trying to, anyway. There's just…a lot to take in."

"See that you do," the man directed, shaking his head with a crooked smile. "From what the _Prophet_ says, not that I trust that old rag, they're one of the three favorites to win the Wizarding Schools Potions Competition, I hear."

"Well, that's true," Shinji admitted. "Koldovstoretz is usually favored when the isle has drifted near a pole. Uagadou when it is close to the equator. _Mahoutokoro_ when it's anywhere else."

So he'd heard from Sajyou-san, at least.

"I think you'll do well," Luna murmured, leaning into her lover beside the fire. "As long as you give it your best."

"…that much I will certainly do," Shinji said solemnly, glancing at the girl beside him and then over to her father. "No matter what else happens."

Having come this far and sacrificed so much, there was no point to not giving his all, and frankly, he had promised his patron, the Director of Atlas, that he would.

After all, her wish was his command.

"Frankly, I think you'd be better off promising to come back alive!" Xenophilius chided. "You're young for a competitor, and from everything I hear, the competition is a very dangerous affair. Not unlike the Tri-Wizard Tournament." The man turned the full force of his eerie gaze on the boy, as if he could see what Shinji had done over the last few days, but had simply chosen not to mention it. "I don't want to see my daughter cry."

A strange mood fell over the clearing as Shinji met the man's gaze evenly, before nodding slightly.

"And I don't want to make her sad," he murmured, turning to the girl by his side.

That, apparently was the right answer, as the tension eased.

"This old man is relieved to hear it," Xenophilius said dryly, his lips quirking into an odd smile as he regarded the two sitting by the fire. "Well, now that that's out of the way, why don't we talk about what we want to do today over breakfast?"

Over a goodly portion of breadfruit, mango, and coconut, the trio worked out a routine for the next week. By day, they would enjoy the sights of Tahiti together, making their way through the rainforest and the winding trails along mighty bluffs that overlooked the pounding surf, exploring the caves and such. By night, they would make camp, with Xenophilius pitching his own tent out of sight and sound of the others, leaving his daughter and her lover to their own devices, only to meet them again for breakfast.

"The solitude helps me write," the man said. "Have a special edition of the _Quibbler_ to put out when we get back to Britain, after all. Speaking of which, I'm thinking about having my daughter act as a special correspondent for the _Quibbler_ , so she can go and see one of the Tournaments coming up this year."

"I see," Shinji replied, raising an eyebrow. "Instead of just being at Hogwarts, you mean?"

While fourth years and above would be heading to Durmstrang for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, those who were younger – third years and below – would be left behind at Hogwarts, with only the paper letting them know what transpired.

"My Luna has always liked to travel," Xenophilius stated, shrugging. "And I just want to see her happy, like any father would. She's the only one I have left in the world, after all."

"You care about her a great deal," the boy noted, thinking it must be nice to have a father who actually gave a damn about his child's happiness.

"And I can see you do too," the man said gently, shaking his head. "I have to say, it's a bit odd. I was originally thinking that after our month in Brazil, we would come back to see the World Cup, since that only happens once every four years, but Luna wanted to see Tahiti instead."

"Huh…the Quidditch World Cup, you mean?" Shinji inquired, with Luna nodding. "What's it like?"

"A spectacle," Xenophilius recalled. "It is one of the only occasions in our world where wizards of all nations come together, celebrating the skill and passion of our Quidditch teams. Tens – hundreds of thousands – so many you wonder how they can all exist at once. For it to happen in Britain is a once in a lifetime thing, but…" The man shook his head. "When you have children of your own, you'll understand."

"Mm. One day, I'm sure," Shinji replied.

"As long as it's not too soon," the man said, but left it at that.

And so they packed up their tents, doused their fire, and set off through the rainforest, with Shinji thinking that it seemed not unlike _Shiretoko_ , where he and Luna had gone last year as part of their quest to find familiars for themselves.

' _A trip that ended better than I could have imagined, even if the start was…more than a bit rocky.'_

Mostly because he hadn't realized that he'd needed to acquire proper camping supplies, having grown up in the city. He supposed he should have to give the Twins a bit of advice if they were setting out on an expedition, though it occurred to him that he had no idea where they would be going. He knew they were studying up on _youkai_ communities, which was more than he had done, but he was sure he could think of something.

By day, they explored caves, looked out at the sea, even traded bits of lore, with Luna recounting the legend of how Tahiti had once been part of the sacred isle of Havai'I, until a great eel possessed by the spirit of a vengeful maiden had torn loose the foundations of the land, so that the isle floated away like a great fish, until it came to rest where it now lay.

"Not quite the same as the legend of how the Islands of Japan came to be," Shinji remarked, speaking of how in myth the isles had been made by the gods Izanagi and Izanami, who stood on the bridge between heaven and earth, churning the sea with _Ame-no-nuboko,_ the heavenly jeweled spear.

As for Xenophilius, he mentioned that perhaps the most mysterious of the wizarding schools – _Nu'utea Kohu_ – was located somewhere around the islands – not that he or anyone else knew much about it aside from its name, which apparently translated to something like "the ever-distant fleet of canoes passing in the distant fog."

Aside from talk of myths, legends, and other matters, they even made a game of sorts of seeing who could find the most hidden caves, formations, and more, with Shinji's awareness of the earth matched against Luna's awareness of the flows of air and Xenophilius' uncanny eyes.

Near dusk, though, they would set up their camps, with Xenophilius always raising his tent some distance from that of the two teens, just out of sight and sound, and after a quick dinner, Luna and Shinji would be left to their own devices.

Often, the two would use their water-sensing abilities to seek out one of the isle's many secluded hot springs, where they would strip down and wash away the worries and cares of the day, feeling refreshed by embrace of the warm waters, and by one another's touch as they helped each other scrub down – or just explored each other's forms slowly and thoroughly.

They'd practice water-walking together after that, surface of the hot spring, with the two feeling the water shift under them as they shifted, using bits of prana to playfully nudge one another, so that they each had to work to stay balanced, with splashes of water, the whisper of the wind, and liquid laughter all intermingled until at last their glistening bodies stood together, entwined in an ageless dance they continued when they returned to their tent, whiling away the evening hours as lovers often would, enjoying the brief moments they had together.

* * *

On their last night, the two made their way along a meandering stream hand in hand, picking their way down a hidden trail that led them to a secluded cove. This time, they playfully sparred under the moonlight, with motes of foxfire hanging in the air around them like a field of stars, a fox-eared (and tailed) Luna Lovegood barely skimming the surface of the sea as tendrils of Shinji's prana tried to catch her, teasingly allowing them to come close, before slipping away just as they nearly touched her.

Perhaps it was better to say that they played, with the ocean as their playground, choreographing a fight that wasn't a fight, a dance that wasn't a dance, as the waters rose and fell around them and wind whispered in their ears.

And then a new sound entered the mix – the eerie vocalizations of a voice that wasn't their own, a voice that certainly wasn't human. The two paused in their revels, turning as one to see a large shadow approaching them from beneath the sea, a dark dorsal fin becoming visible as it surfaced.

'… _a killer whale?'_ Shinji wondered, as his suspicions were confirmed by a column of mist, with what was revealed to be a lone orca circling them. _'But what is it doing here?'_

The waters were a bit warm for such a whale, were they not?

And then the whale _changed_ , its form shifting in the moonlight into that of an older youth with tanned skin, a male islander dressed in a _pāreu_ tied into a skirt, covered by a cloak of red and black feathers. He held a hooked shark-toothed club in his hands – almost like a scepter, and stood on the surface of the water easily as he regarded the two in frank curiosity, his gaze taking in Shinji's Japanese features – and Luna's fox-eared form.

" _Ia Orana,"_ the youth said simply, speaking the ancient words of greeting.

" _la Orana_ ," Luna replied quietly, meeting the other's inquiring expression.

" _Mahoutokoro_?" the other asked, only for Shinji to shake his head.

"Hogwarts," the Japanese boy corrected, with the new arrival's eyebrows shooting skywards in an expression of faint surprise.

"Ah, Kahuna of the West," the youth spoke solemnly, his eyes dark in the moonlight. "I had wondered why the stars seemed strange this night. I had not expected it to be the work of another Kahuna, much less one who wields the fire of a _tupuqa_."

"…you are of _Nu'utea Kohu,"_ Luna observed. "The Pacific Islands School."

"Indeed. I am Kaʻaukai Kapule, Kahuna Kapua of _Nu'utea Kohu,_ " the youth confirmed, indicating his cloak. "My canoe is _Hokule'a._ I am of _Hawaiki_ , but my path is that of the wanderer."

In Hawaiian myth, the Kapua were seen as tricksters and magicians with the power to appearing in both human and animal – or plant – form. They were not unlike animagi, save that where an animagus form was an aspect of a wizard represented by an animal, a _Kapua_ had a form born out of one's connection with the world, blending the self and the other, influenced by the elements one partook of.

To be Kahuna Kapua was to demonstrate one's mastery of the shamanic arts, bringing together the inner and the outer world, with the self as a medium, understanding that power came not from personality or individuality but from the source of power of all life.

"I am Luna Lovegood, a Witch of Hogwarts," the blonde girl replied, the golden eyes of her fusion form shining in the moonlight. "My house is Ravenclaw. I am of Britain, but my path is of the wanderer."

"…and I am Matou Shinji of Hogwarts and _Mahoutokoro_ ," the Japanese boy added. "I am of Ravenclaw, and my path is my own."

"Mm," the other said. "You have a come a long way, but the path is longer still, yes?"

"I suppose, yes."

"You will not be doing this every night, I think?" the Kahuna Kapua inquired. "For those of us who find our way by the stars, this…confuses."

One of the courses every student of _Nu'utea Kohu_ took was navigation, after all, based on the ancient Polynesian practices passed from navigator to apprentice through the ages, and one of the main methods by which they determined where they were when the land was no longer in sight was by the stars.

Aside from that, there were factors like weather and season, what creatures were nearby, the quality of the ocean and the colors of the sky.

For those navigating fleet, the sight of different stars – unexpected ones – could be quite jarring indeed.

"Our apologies," Luna murmured. "We will be gone by the morrow."

"I see," the islander noted. "If that is so, then I will take word of this to those at _Hokule'a._ Fortune be upon you, _Kapua_ of Britain."

"And to you, _Kapua of Nu'utea Kohu._ "

With a nod, the youth shifted form once more, his feathered cloak and club disappearing as he sank into the waters, becoming a mighty orca. The great whale did a barrel roll and made a few clicks in parting, before diving and slipping away from sight altogether.

"That was unexpected," Shinji remarked. "A killer whale animagus. I never expected—"

"Not quite an animagus," Luna murmured, her eyes gleaming gold. "He looked more like you in fusion form, only different."

"I see," the boy noted, holding out his hand. "Shall we finish our dance upon the waves? Or shall we go back to our tent?"

"One, then another," Luna commented. "The name you called yourself – Matou. I thought you said it was lost to you."

"It was," Shinji agreed, smiling sadly as he looked into the distance. "As such, I can no longer be called a Matou, written with the characters for 'among the paulownia.' As my people did once though, I can choose my own name. And so I choose to use the name of Matou, written with characters meaning 'true to myself.'"

"So Matou Shinji is reborn," Luna murmured in a fey voice as she stepped close to the boy and snuggled up to him, her fox-eared face leaning up towards his as her fluffy tail wrapped about the bare skin of his back. "Finding a new beginning in the ruins of the past."

"Indeed," the boy whispered. "Here's to new beginnings," he said, as he leaned down and captured her lips with an aching, tender kiss as the stars gleamed overhead and the waves and wind played.

* * *

In the morning, they sat together on the shore, nestled against one another as they talked of the future to come.

"What will you do?" Luna asked quietly, as she leaned against his chest. "When you leave here, that is?"

"Well, I should probably talk to Tohsaka," Shinji sighed. "After all, I owe it to her, to tell her about her sister. What about you? Going to explore more of the island?"

"Mm. There's more of Tahiti yet to see."

"So there is," Matou Shinji acknowledged with a soft smile as his arms tightened around her waist, and leaned forward and kissed the top of Luna's head, breathing in the scent of her hair. "I love you."

"I love you too," the girl whispered, her thumb and fingers tracing small circles on his arms and hands. "It will be some time before we see each other next, won't it?"

"Mm. Yeah, it will…" the boy noted. "Though I'm sure we'll see each other again when the school year begins."

The girl did not reply immediately, with Shinji having the sense that she knew something he didn't.

"We will," she said at last. "And perhaps on the weekends we can spend time together at your house, using the cabinets. It would be a nice change of pace, and it is fun cooking breakfast with you."

"It is fun doing many things with you, Luna," the Matou boy replied wryly. He fell silent for a moment as he watched the waves roll over the sand, and idly, he brushed her hair aside and blew a stream of air over his lover's ear, so that she moaned and sighed.

She twisted in his arms and kissed him, and for a time, there were no more words between them, just the sound of two people enjoying each other's warmth under the open sky.

Sometime later, they lay side by side on a spare blanket she'd brought, looking deeply into each other's eyes as they held each other close, as if the other was the most precious thing in the world. By this time, however, a shimmering portal had appeared beside them, its surface mirror smooth as it waited patiently for a wayward traveler to return through it to the place he called home.

"You have to go," Luna murmured, her words almost a sigh.

"I suppose I do," Shinji said reluctantly. No dream lasted forever, after all, and he had duties to attend to as Champion.

"I'll miss you," they spoke together, smiling as they realized they'd both spoken at once.

"Be safe," Luna whispered.

"Be happy," Shinji replied, as their lips came together in a long, lingering kiss of farewell.

They stood as one, with Luna stepping back, the breeze causing her blonde hair to stream behind her like woven gold in the morning light, her pale skin and white dress almost glowing.

"I'll see you soon," the boy said.

"I'll hold you to it," Luna replied, with her smile and her radiant form being the last thing he saw before he stepped through the portal, returning to _Mahoutokoro_ , ready to take on the world.

* * *

A/N: So Matou Shinji is reborn, but instead of 間桐, the kanji of his old family name, he uses 真当 instead, as a symbol of the path he has embarked on.


	8. You Can (Not) Advance

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 8** **.** _You Can (Not) Advance_

Matou Shinji blinked as he emerged from the shimmering surface of a portal, the air crisp and cool on his skin as he emerging onto one of _Mahoutokoro's_ portal platforms, noting that due to time differences, the sun had not yet even begun to rise.

' _I'm home_ ,' he thought idly, taking a moment to watch the colors of the sky change as dawn drew near, reds and purples and oranges taking the place of star-studded darkness. Then, he shook his head, a wistful smile stealing across his lips as he realized what he'd just thought. _'Though I suppose for me, there is some truth to it. This_ is _home now, after all.'_

The only home he had in Japan, at least – and the first place where he had been truly welcomed, no matter where he might end up after Hogwarts.

To this day, he remembered the first time he came to _Mahoutokoro_ quite well. He'd stepped through the Weeping Cherry Tree onto the ledge overlooking the city, learning that something this majestic, something this grand, existed for the first time. He'd marveled at the beasts in the city, the free use of prana, the mystery about everything.

And when he'd touched the Great Tree's roots, something had looked into him – through him, at what he had been, and what he might one day be, weighing the totality of who and what he was – and finding him worthy of something for the first time in his life.

That he wasn't a failure. A mistake.

That he had a _future_.

Even now, it was impossible for him to say how profoundly that realization had touched him – much as it was impossible to say just how deeply Luna's acceptance of him, despite everything he'd told her, despite knowing that so much of his actions were built on what he considered a lie, had affected him.

Certainly, her acceptance ranked up there with Sokaris offering him a place at Atlas, and Touko making him her provisional apprentice, each meaning that no matter what he did, he had some place to go – someplace to return.

"I trust your time with Miss Lovegood was useful, Master?"

Zelkova's voice broke him from his reverie, as the _kodama_ – in his form as a youth –strode into view, ascending the steps of the platform slowly. "The flow of prana within you certainly seems more stable."

"…yes, it was indeed," Shinji said, a hint of color blossoming on his cheeks as he recalled how pleasant it had been – and how only moments before, he'd been kissing her goodbye. The way she'd looked at him, the way she believed in him and saw him as a better person than he saw himself, had surprised him. With her help, he'd managed to put himself back together. To embrace the role of a Matou Shinji who was not a disgrace to the name of Makiri and carried around the stigma of past failures, but one who looked to the future and was true to those he cared about. "It was certainly...not unpleasant."

That was an understatement, if anything, but then Matou Shinji didn't really feel like trying to describe the totality of what had happened with words, as he had a feeling he would do a poor job indeed.

"No doubt your current state of dress is a testament to this," the youth remarked, noting that his Master was clad in only a _pāreu_ tied into a skirt _,_ with a flower tucked behind his left ear, and his wand behind his right.

"Ah…" Shinji said as he looked down, becoming conscious of what he was wearing. On the island, he'd gotten used to wearing just a _pāreu,_ given that he'd had little else, and on that last morning, he'd been a little too distracted by Luna to remember to change back into more western clothing. "Yes, I suppose it is."

There was an uncomfortable pause, as the young practitioner of witchcraft realized that while clothing traditions might have been somewhat more relaxed in Tahiti, Japanese culture was not quite as permissive about such.

"…you don't mind if I take this opportunity to practice fusion, do you?" he asked after a moment, recalling that in fusion form, he gained rather dignified robes. "It has been a while after all."

Especially since the _kodama_ had remained behind at _Mahoutokoro,_ working with the Maiden of the Tree on a project of hers. Zelkova merely raised an eyebrow at his Master's request, his golden eyes seeming almost amused.

"Master," the youth said reproachfully. "While I understand that humans have certain taboos concerning inappropriate or inadequate clothing, surely it would be more practical to send me to your quarters for a change of clothing than to attempt fusion?" The _kodama_ turned to reveal a pack he had been carrying. "As it happens, however, I anticipated such an eventuality might arise during your absence, so I prepared accordingly."

"…thanks," Shinji grunted, taking the pack from his familiar and opening it to see that there was in fact a full change of clothing. "I do appreciate it."

Hoping no one would be able to look up and see him, the boy efficiently pulled on his undergarments, pants, and shirt, using the _pāreu_ to preserve his modesty – something he hadn't thought much about over the last week.

He needn't have worried – there was little air traffic this early in the morning, and none close enough to catch a glimpse of him, but humans tended to worry about things they could not control, especially if it might affect their social standing.

"And how have you been, Zelkova?" he asked when he was suitably attired for walking about _Mahoutokoro. "_ Has Matsuo-san been treating you well?"

The boy didn't really expect any less of the Maiden of the Tree, especially since she had been considerate enough to gate him onto a portal platform and not into the center of the city, but it never hurt to ask.

"She has," the _kodama_ replied, inclining his head. "My time with her has been most…enlightening, given that the Maiden is possessed of a wisdom and experience I did not imagine possible in one of your sort. But in a way, she is as much _youkai_ asshe is human after so many years."

"Huh, is that so?" the Matou boy inquired as he folded up the _pāreu_ and tucked it under his arm. "What exactly have you been up to with her?"

"Training," Zelkova said quietly. "I am possessed of the basic knowledge of one of my kind, but for all that, I lack the experience to focus in the face of…utter destruction, as I am first and foremost a spirit of life. The incident with the Acromantulae…"

"…yeah, I'm sorry about that. I asked too much of you."

"It's not your fault, Master," the _kodama_ noted. "I did not then know the limits of my capacity."

"…I don't think either of us did," Shinji reflected wryly. "Luna seems to know her own abilities well, but…"

"The reach of most humans does tend to exceed their grasp," Zelkova observed. "Even you fall victim to this, as skilled as you are."

"I'm learning, like the rest of us. I still don't…observe the patterns of reality enough, I think you put it. Even so, I've made some headway on water manipulation, which I think will be useful in the future."

"Indeed," the other remarked. "Aside from its applications with regards to _ofuda,_ until now the basis of our fused form has been our shared Earth element. However, as you gain proficiency in using water, our form will change, as wood-based abilities will become available."

"Mm, so I'll finally be able to do some of what Sajyou-san can do?"

"Not exactly, Master. Her abilities stem not from elemental manipulation, but from basic manipulation of yin and yang, allowing her to use all of the elements if she wishes," the _kodama_ explained. "But if you mean that you will be able to use growth-related powers, then yes."

"Interesting," Shinji noted, though his smile froze as he remembered how annoying it was to face those who used fire. "I hope this means we do not gain an extra vulnerability though. I recall how much you fear fire."

"It should not be the case. I have not noticed such when fused with Miss Lovegood, at any rate."

Speaking of Luna…

"That's right, I've been meaning to ask – what is it like? Becoming one with her, that is."

Zelkova looked at his Master strangely.

"Do you not know? You have her prana within you," the spirit commented, with Shinji flushing deep red at the reminder of their nights together. "Does this not imply a union has occurred?"

"…not that kind of union," the boy growled, shaking his head. "It's just that…well, I know she's skilled with water and wind, and that in fusion with Pandora, she uses wind and fire. But what about when she's fused with you? What element do you share?"

"Ah. You may be aware that in our system, wind is an aspect of wood, representing growth and life – just as in the legends of the west, the soul is sometimes called the breath of life. In such a fusion, her water nourishes my wood, and her wind amplifies a portion of such. This is, of course, without accounting for the effects of yin and yang."

"…that sounds rather complicated."

"It is difficult to explain in words," Zelkova admitted. "With these things, the totality of the experience can only be understood through the doing."

"You know…for once I think I understand exactly what you mean."

There was another long silence, this one more comfortable than the last as the familiar digested the meaning of his Master's words and nodded appropriately.

"I see," the familiar noted after some time. "On that note, Master, Matsuo-san asked if you would be returning to your training, now that you have had a chance to focus, or if you had other responsibilities you wished to discharge first?"

While there was a part of the boy who knew he should be getting to his training, given that all of Britain – and Sokaris, moreover – was looking to him to do well in the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship, Matou Shinji shook his head. Given that it was his actions which had caused the tension between the Matou and the Einzbern to erupt into open war, he had a duty to take responsibility for some of the fallout.

"Let Matsuo-san know that I will be going to London to deal with Tohsaka first," Shinji replied, with a bow. "Depending on what she's been told, she might even think I'm dead, and we can't have that, now can we?"

"Mm."

"Will you be coming with me, Zelkova?" he asked hopefully, knowing that without his familiar or Luna present, his dreams – nightmares – would undoubtedly return.

"I'm afraid not," the _kodama_ said apologetically. "I still have some work to do with Matsuo-san."

"Well, if she was kind enough to send me to Luna, I suppose it would only be fair of me to let her keep working with you," Shinji allowed, shaking his head. "It would probably not be a good idea to anger the Maiden, after all. Or her familiar Kaiduka."

"While I doubt they would be so easily annoyed, the basic principle is quite sound."

"…that and you've done a lot for me over the last year. The least I can do is to let you learn from someone you so clearly respect."

"Mm. For that, Master, I thank you."

* * *

Zelkova left after that, presumably returning to the _Root of the Sky,_ with Matou Shinji descending the steps of the platform and choosing to walk to his quarters at the school instead of taking one of the warp points. It wasn't as if he didn't have time, after all, given that with the time difference between Japan and London, it was only early evening at his eventual destination, so he imagined there would be some time for him to freshen up a bit.

As he walked through the city, he noted that it was busier than usual at this time of morning, with quite a few people out and about and chattering about the Quidditch World Cup, discussing the event, the other teams involved this year, and the odds various bookkeepers were laying on certain teams advancing to the elimination round of the month-long tournament.

' _I guess it really is a big deal. Even here,'_ Shinji thought to himself, only to stop short as he heard something about the _Japanese_ Quidditch Team. _'Wait. We have a Quidditch team? I didn't know that.'_

Then again, he'd never cared to find out, as he'd never understood the appeal of watching other people fly around on brooms, with some smacking iron balls towards others, as they tried to throw a ball through a hoop.

Though what repelled the boy most about the game was the history behind the position of Seeker and the Golden Snitch, with the tradition of a game ending when said item was caught, instead of due to something sensible like time limits, reminding him of the terrible price of human greed.

It hadn't always been like that, Lockhart had informed them, until in 1269, Barberus Bragge, head of the Wizards' Council, had released a Golden Snidget – a delicate little bird which could be crushed to death by a human grip – during the middle of a Quidditch match, offering a reward of 150 Galleons to the player who caught – and thus killed – the bird.

At the time, such a sum had been rather substantial. Indeed, it had been enough so that the lure of gold drove the players on both teams into a frenzy, with the game forgotten as each of them scrambled after the bird, grabbing at it, one after the other, until at last one player finally snatched it out of the air, the blood of the crushed bird dripping from his clenched fist and down his arm as he howled in triumph.

Bragge did this a number of times, with much the same reaction each time, with copycats emulating him as the bloody fad caught on. Slowly, it became customary to set a frightened Snidget loose during every Quidditch match, with referees giving out 150 points to the team that caught the bird in place of the original Galleon reward, since few could match Bragge's deep pockets.

For more than 300 years, the barbaric snidget-catching craze continued, with birds crushed to death in every game, until the Golden Snidget had been all but wiped from existence, forcing metal charmer Bowman Wright to devise an alternative: the Golden Snitch, which in form and function emulated the nearly-extinct bird almost perfectly.

' _And they couldn't have come up with it_ before _nearly wiping out an entire species for their cruel amusements?'_

More than one person had been sickened to learn this fact, though Matou Shinji had been affected worst of all, with what mild enjoyment he might have experienced when watching Quidditch evaporating away once Lockhart covered this unsavory tidbit of sports history. The History Professor had compared it to how Muggles believed they had hunted the Diricrawl (which they knew as the dodo) to extinction, with the ICW not revealing the animal's continued existence, given they wished for Muggles to be aware of the consequences of slaying their fellow creatures indiscriminately.

"Only they don't seem to remind wizards of the consequences of slaying _our_ fellow creatures, now do they?" the man had asked rather pointedly. "Muggles hunted dodos because they were a useful source of meat on long sea voyages. Why did we nearly wipe out the Golden Snidget? Nothing more than a savage taste for blood."

There were other reasons he disliked the sport, given the expensive brooms needed for it, the savagery of it, and the fact that he thought it was an utter waste of time.

True, Capture the Flag, which he much preferred, was perhaps even more savage from a certain point of view, but there was a point to the savagery. It honed one's abilities to think creatively, one's knowledge of dueling and strategy, and one's ability to work with a team. Best of all, it was highly accessible, as it needed no equipment other than wands – which every participant would already have due to being a practitioner of witchcraft.

Granted, it celebrated a kind of violence, at least every participant knew what they were getting into, unlike the terrified Golden Snidgets whose gory deaths Quidditch fans had once cheered with roars of approval.

Such was why he didn't bother following the news about the World Cup, who was winning, or who was even _in_ the tournament, aside from Scotland, Wales, England, and Ireland, which all qualified for the tournament automatically since Magical Britain was the host nation.

Still, as he headed through the city towards his quarters, he couldn't avoid hearing about how disappointed people were at the poor performance of Brazil, France, India, Morocco, and the Nordic Team, given that they'd failed to qualify for the knockout tournament.

With 21 teams in the mix, instead of the usual 16, there had been a need for some whittling down, and in the round-robin matches, those five teams had not made the cut.

The first round of the tournament proper would be starting soon, and featured such matchups as Argentina vs Bulgaria, USA vs Germany, Portugal vs Ireland, Peru vs Spain, Luxembourg vs Scotland, Wales vs Uganda, England vs Transylvania, and Japan vs Australia.

Already there was some speculation about a possible Japan vs USA matchup in the quarter-finals – provided that Japan crushed Australia and the USA crushed Germany – since Japan vs USA matches, whenever they occurred, were something of a spectacle.

Had been ever since the 1940s, really, when a minor conflict called World War II had changed the balance of power.

There was some disappointment that the New Zealanders had not qualified, given that a match against them tended to be fairly exciting. As a national team, the "Broom Blacks", as they were called, eschewed a mascot, instead covering themselves in warpaint and performing a pre-game "haka" or traditional war dance, promising bloody death to those they played against.

And of course, there was discussion about the infamous incident that had occurred during the World Cup in 1809 Siberia, when Niko Nenad, Beater for the Romanian National Quidditch team, hired a band of local wizards to help him jinx the whole of the forest adjacent to the pitch prior to the tournament.

Still, nothing might have come of it, save that in the final match, featuring Romania vs New Spain (now known as Mexico), Romania had fallen behind on points, with the team utterly exhausted. Unwilling to admit defeat, Nenad had sprung his trap, sending the Bludger flying into the forest.

The effect had been instantaneous and rather murderous, with the forest coming to life, the trees wrenching their roots from the ground and marching upon the stadium, flattening everything in their path. Luckily, with over a hundred thousand wizards present, they'd managed to beat back the savage assault, despite numerous injuries and several fatalities.

Nothing of the sort had happened since, of course, since the International Confederation of Wizards' Quidditch Committee, with the help and cooperation of the various host nations, had made sure to police the grounds before and during each match. Still, certain nations, like Japan, had never sought to host the Quidditch World Cup, given the security issues involved with bringing in so many practitioners of witchcraft, the logistics involved in housing and providing for so many people, and the dangerous mascot animals – which might not play well with the native _youkai._

' _And I doubt Matsuo-san would like having so many strangers in the City…'_

These things and more, Shinji heard on his way to his quarters, where he set down his tiare flower and _pāreu,_ showered, and packed a small bag with clothing – as well as a few Japanese snacks from the crate in his room, given that he thought Rin might enjoy those.

With that said and done, he headed over to Touko's workshop, entering the semi-public portion of it and passing through the Vanishing Cabinet therein to London – and his manor house.

* * *

Matou Shinji stepped out of the cabinet into his study, which was just how he'd left it. This was no great surprise, as no one currently in the house had authorization to enter it, but it was still nice to see that the defenses his Master had installed were performing as promised.

' _Well, given how much I paid, they'd better be working…'_

The boy smiled ever so slightly as his eyes fell upon the snowglobe on his desk, one which featured Illyasviel and himself standing together with Sokaris and the two Magicians at the gala. Looking back on it, everything had seemed so right, and he was glad he'd been able to help Sion gain what she'd wanted, despite the heavy cost.

' _I should probably get to know Mashu better too, since she works for the Director of Atlas as well…speaking of which, I should probably see her to see what's been happening.'_

He would of course write to Sion, and update her on what had transpired in Fuyuki, using the miniature Vanishing Cabinet he'd given her, but in the meantime, her agent on the spot probably had a better finger on the pulse of the Tower than Tohsaka.

With that thought in mind, the boy exited his study and entered the house proper, descending the stairs towards the ground floor, where he thought both Mashu and Tohsaka would probably be, given the hour.

Yet when he arrived, neither Mashu nor Tohsaka were having dinner, nor were they lounging about by the fire, talking about their days.

Instead, from the landing, he thought saw an unhappy looking Mashu shaking her head as she did the dishes, with quiet sobbing coming from behind what he was sure was Tohsaka's door.

' _What…happened here?'_ he wondered. While Shinji was tempted to just go check on the sobbing, as he didn't want to leave Tohsaka in pain, the boy knew that without more complete information, things might go badly.

With a sigh, the boy continued down the stairs and walked into the kitchen, with Mashu Kyrielite – who served as his live-in maid freezing at the sight of him, her purple eyes widening in surprise as he appeared before her. She hadn't seen him use the door, after all, or felt anyone approaching the house…

"You're back, Matou," the girl breathed, blinking as she very deliberately set down the plate in her hands and turned off the tap. "And you're alive."

Shinji sighed as his worst fears were confirmed, though he could see how they could be useful for him in the short term.

"It seems that rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," the boy said dryly. "Though I would appreciate it if you didn't actually go spreading that around. Telling Sion is fine, but with the Einzbern apparently out to kill me…well, you understand."

"Mhm," Mashu replied shyly, glancing uneasily in the direction of Rin's room. "And Tohsaka? Did you need me to tell her, Matou-san?"

"Don't worry, I'll tell her myself," Shinji told her, given that such was the least he could do. Still, he didn't expect the girl's expression to sag in obvious relief, something which made him more than a bit concerned. "…what happened, Mashu? Talk to me."

"That might take a while," the girl said uncomfortably.

"I don't mind. This mess is kind of my fault anyway, and I know I haven't been around much, while you've seen everything, so…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Please?"

The strawberry blonde nodded reluctantly, with her gesturing for Shinji to help her with a pot of tea and two cups as they moved over to the sitting room.

There, she informed him of the various things that had transpired.

Shinji had expected that Tohsaka might have some trouble at the Tower, given what his Master had mentioned about her own experiences with prejudice, and that her sponsor was perhaps not the most understanding of her, but he hadn't expected things to get nearly this bad.

That Tohsaka had taken to drinking heavily – that she would throw herself at anyone who approached her while drunk – surprised him, as the Tohsaka Rin he remembered – that he had idolized – had been very strong and independent. She hadn't cared what people thought of her, really, and simply was the best at whatever she put her mind to, in school or otherwise.

' _Once, she was what I dreamed about, and everything I wanted. Now…?'_

"Are you sure about this, Mashu?" Shinji asked, given that the picture she painted didn't match the Rin he knew at all.

"Y-yes," the girl replied, her cheeks reddening just a bit as she looked away, averting her gaze. It was clear that she didn't want to say more, making it obvious to Shinji that she had probably been the one Rin had hit on. "After the first time, I thought she would stop, but this week, it got worse."

"…why?"

"Tohsaka received a letter from Fuyuki several days ago," Mashu explained, her hands wrapped around the warm cup in her hands. "From a Kotomine Kirei."

Shinji only wished he were surprised to hear that.

"The priest who was her guardian," he said wearily. "No doubt informing her of the death of the Matou family, and the violation of her land by another party."

"Mm," Mashu confirmed. "Since then, she has not emerged from her room, except to go to the bathroom. She hasn't gone to the Tower. She hasn't eaten anything. And she won't respond to anything. Not to knocking, not to questions about if she's ok, not to food left outside her door. When I get close though, I can hear her crying, and I smell the alcohol in her room."

Shinji cringed.

That…that was significantly worse than he had feared.

"Have you tried going inside?" the boy asked, but the girl shook her head.

"No. It's not my place," Mashu said. "And…"

"You're right. It's mine," Shinji sighed. "It's mine. Thanks. I'll go see to her now."

"Mm."

Downing the rest of his peppermint tea in one gulp, the boy set the cup down and stood up, walking over to Tohsaka's room and wondering what he'd find.

* * *

 _Knock-knock!_

Matou Shinji rapped on the door of Tohsaka's room, only to receive no response, as the sobs continued. Sure enough, as he got close enough, the pungent scent of alcohol was quite discernable, which made him more than a little concerned.

"Tohsaka…umm, Rin, open the door, please?" he asked, hoping that it would do some good. "It's me. Shinji."

The sobs stopped with a surprised hitch, and from behind the door, the boy could make out the sounds of someone scrambling to her feet.

"Tohsaka?" he repeated…and then the door opened just a hair, revealing a single blue eye, which widened as it took in the identity of the one standing before the door. Then the door opened all the way, revealing a disheveled Tohsaka wearing nothing but a lacy black bra and panties, holding a mostly empty bottle of firewhiskey in her left hand, with many more scattered around the room.

"…M…matou?" she whispered, her face pale as she looked at him, thinking she'd seen a ghost.

"Yeah. It's me," the boy replied, smiling weakly. "I'm here."

"Matou!" she cried, and then she was hugging him, her hot body clinging to him desperately as if he was the only thing in the world that mattered. "You're here," she whispered, as if she couldn't believe it. "You're…here."

"Tohsaka, I…" Shinji began, his arms wrapping around her gingerly, as if he didn't know what was safe to touch – and more to the point – what wasn't, not with so much exposed flesh.

And he could no longer speak, as her mouth was on his, her lips hungrily seeking his as if she needed reassurance that he was really there, with the bottle of firewhiskey slipping from her fingers, its contents spilling out onto the carpet. In his shock, Shinji just stood paralyzed, his mind going blank as Rin pressed herself against him, rubbing herself against him and moaning.

"How?" she whispered, in between her hot and hungry kisses, her hands slipping under his shirt to roam the skin of his back. "How can you…?" She kissed him again, pulling him back with her. "…be here?" she asked. "The priest told me…" Tohsaka murmured. "He told me…the Matou were gone…that you…that everyone was…was…"

It took everything he had, but the boy somehow mustered up the strength to push her away, with the girl letting out a cry as she stumbled backwards, landing on the bed, her hair fanning out behind her.

"Ahhh," she whispered, her body flushing red as she looked up at him, holding out her arms. "So you…want to take the lead? That's…that's fine. Ravish me, Matou. Let me know you're really here. With me."

Shinji's expression was pained, as he stared at the girl on the bed. Despite his better judgement, he walked closer to her, sitting down on the edge of her bed, carefully turning away so as not to look at her.

"Tohsaka, please…" he began, unspoken plea for her to come to her senses on the tip of his tongue, but he never had a chance to say it, as she pulled him down onto the bed with surprisingly strong arms, mounting him in one frenzied motion as she undid her bra, exposing her firm, budding breasts to his wide eyes.

"Matou," she begged, her eyes filled with utter, urgent need as she rubbed her body against his, moaning as she felt him hardening beneath her. "Please…I need you."

"Tohsaka, I…," Shinji fumbled for words as she pressed her bare chest against him, and what he was about to say died in his mouth.

"You can have me," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him, her luxuriant black hair cascading over her shoulders as she moaned, her breath coming in rough gasps. "All of me. As rough as you want. As gentle as you want. Just…touch me? Make me yours."

"No…Tohsaka, I…" He groped for words. "I...Luna," the boy whispered, his eyes regaining clarity as he fixed on the name of his lover. "I…love Luna. So, I can't…"

"That's…that's fine," the girl said quietly, her body tensing just a bit, though the frenzy in her eyes abated not at all. "You don't…you don't have to love me. Just hold me. Kiss me. Let me pretend that you do. Be here with me. Just for a bit. Make me a woman."

"Tohsaka…" he began, before shaking his head, as he flushed all over at the thoughts running through his mind. Maybe using her first name would get through to her? "Rin, I…"

"Please…" the girl begged. "Just…I don't know. Just j-j-jam it in and use me however you want. I know you want me. Matou. Please. I need you. I…"

Her hands moved down his body to unbutton his pants, but before she could pull them down, Shinji's rose to seize her wrists. In one smooth motion, he flipped both them over, pinning her down under him, with her arms over her head.

"That's enough, Tohsaka."

The girl looked up at him, her expression almost feral as she wrapped her long, slender legs about him.

"So you prefer it this way, after all, Matou? You're finally going to ravish me? I didn't imagine my first time would—"

"No," the boy said firmly, shaking his head to clear it of the vision of Tohsaka's body lying under his, so lush and warm and inviting. There had been a time when he would have sacrificed almost anything to be here, to have her desire him so, to have her writhing and moaning his name, but now… "No. We're not doing this. We can't."

Rin just stared up at him in disbelief, straining as she wriggled and teased…and he turned his face away.

"Matou…why? Don't you…want me? Don't you…?"

"No," he repeated, his voice a strangled gasp as he let go of her hands and pulled back. Tohsaka hadn't expected that of him, and so her legs couldn't keep a tight enough grip as he slipped away and rolled off the bed, stepping away from the nearly naked girl, leaving her alone on her luxurious bed. "I'm sorry," he said.

A heavy silence, awkward and pregnant with meaning, hung in the air between them.

"…it's me, isn't it," the Tohsaka heiress asked brokenly, her tone bitter as she stared up at the ceiling. "I'm not good enough. For anyone."

"Rin, please…"

"You. Mashu. Everyone at the Tower," she continued, her body beginning to tremble as the sobs began to wrack her once more. "Everyone hates me. No one likes Tohsaka Rin."

"Tohsaka, it's not that I don't like you," Shinji broke in, wanting to comfort her – yet afraid to come closer to her, that if he reached out to take her hand, she'd pull him down again. "It's…"

"I would have given you everything," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears as she cut him off. "I just so happy to see you weren't—I thought you—I…"

"Rin, I'm happy to see you too, but…"

"Stupid!" the girl cried out, her body shaking – with Shinji not daring to touch her, for he knew where that might lead. It had been hard enough to tear himself away from her once. He didn't think he'd be able to do it again. "Stupid Shinji. Why are you even here?! You won't do anything! You won't help me! You won't kiss me. You won't even hold me!"

The boy said nothing. He didn't know what to say – how to get through to her.

"You made me feel like I was special," she spoke, perhaps to him, perhaps to no one at all. "Like I was the only one in the world that mattered. Like you cared. When Kirei…when he told me you died, I…the world broke. And then you were here and I thought, I…"

Shinji grimaced. It was true that he'd used her in a way. Had done so much for her so that someone thought well of him. In a way, they weren't that different, as they'd used each other, seeking each other's company and approval, seeking to know they were not alone in the world.

It was a frightening thing to realize that the perfect girl he'd idolized – the Tohsaka heiress who was always in control, always the best at whatever she did – didn't exist.

That she was as flawed…perhaps more flawed…that he was.

"Matou…" Rin whispered, her eyes looking at him pleadingly. "Please…say something." But he did not, just closing his eyes and resisting the urge to go to her. To comfort her. To soothe her pain, because he knew that if he did…. "Anything. Please…Matou…"

Shinji only shook his head. If he gave in…

"Look at me?" she begged, pleading for him to give her his attention. For him to give her some kind of validation, as she bared herself to him. "Please? Just look at me? Won't you…? Matou? Am I really that worthless? Matou…? Matou…?"

It wasn't long before her words broke down into incoherent slurs and sobs, as Tohsaka Rin cried herself to sleep, having been rejected by the only person in the world she thought actually gave a damn about her. Once the room was silent, with tears giving way to deep, even breaths, Shinji finally dared to look at the girl who had once looked up to.

Asleep, she was utterly helpless, her pale, nearly nude body splayed across the bed. The body she had offered to him – and which he had somehow refused.

' _Loyal to the death, Luna called me. I won't let her be wrong.'_

He walked over to the bed with a heavy heart and picked up a fallen blanket, covering the poor girl's form. What she needed…was something he couldn't give her. Even if he'd given in, even if he'd let her drown her pain in pleasure, all it would have done was postpone things.

' _I have Sokaris as someone who I am walking towards, and Luna who I walk besides, but Tohsaka…doesn't have anyone.'_

He'd need to think of something to help her, because living here, in this house, she depended on him, and it would be cruel of him to simply let her down in her hour of need.

Shaking his head, he turned to go, only to freeze as he saw that the door had been open the entire time – and that their entire confrontation had probably been heard by anyone outside.

* * *

"Why am I not surprised you were listening?" Matou Shinji said as he stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind him, turning towards the hint of strawberry blonde he'd seen out of the corner of his eye to see Mashu sitting against the wall outside Tohsaka's room, her knees drawn up to her chest.

"Because you know who I work for," came the simple reply, as the girl's purple eyes looked up at him. "I'm surprised. When you went in there, I didn't think you would be able to resist. I thought I would hear…" She trailed off, her cheeks going pink. "But you did. I have a better impression of you now. Maybe the director was right about you."

"…the Director, you say," Shinji murmured, somehow not entirely surprised that Sion had mentioned him – though gratified to hear he had not betrayed her trust unknowingly. "You know, you know a lot about me, but I don't think I know much about you."

"There's not much to know. I'm a student and researcher at the Tower."

"Who just so happens to have a connection with Atlas," Shinji remarked dryly. "And the Animusphere family. There's more to you than you let on."

"Isn't that the case for everyone?" Mashu asked, with Shinji chuckling as he held out his hand to help her to her feet.

"Maybe," the boy admitted, shaking his head. "Anyway, about Tohsaka…"

"Yes?"

"I'm not sure I like leaving so much alcohol in the house, not if she's going to drink it like this," he said quietly. "I'm going to take some of it with me as gifts for my benefactors, but…could you deal with the rest of it? I don't mean throw it in the river or something, but…for Tohsaka's sake…"

"Hm. You do care about her."

"I do. Just…maybe not in the way that she'd like," Shinji noted. "Not right now, with everything that's happened. If I did…I'd just be putting her in danger. More, I mean. She doesn't deserve that. Not because of me."

"You're a good person, senpai," Mashu said to him, though the boy shook his head.

"Some days, I think so. Others, I wonder," the boy remarked. "What does it mean to be good, after all? One can only do what one can, right?" He sighed. "Sorry, I don't mean to trouble you so much. You've already been a big help. Thank you, Mashu, for everything."

"Just doing my duty."

"I know. And I appreciate it, even if I know your loyalty is ultimately to another."

* * *

Sometime later, Aozaki Touko found herself in the train station of Mifune City, where according to Tomas, her apprentice had asked to meet her. This came as something of a surprise to the puppeteer, who didn't recall her student ever asking for help with much, mostly because he knew it would cost him. That he was changing his tune now was…curious, so she had taken a break from her investigation.

As one of her side jobs, she worked as something of a detective, after all, and there had been a series of strange – and unexplained – incidents that the police had sought help with, incidents similar to those in the mystery novels of Edogawa Ranpo and Seishi Yokomizo.

She often met interesting people during the course of her investigations, with the most amusing one this time around being a certain Kokutou Azaka, who she'd found upside down in a lake, with her legs sticking out of the water. The girl was apparently involved with the incidents to some extent, and though she had no circuits, she apparently was born with a special ability.

' _A psychic, huh? One whose body produces a substantial electrical current when she enters a state of psychological arousal, with this causing something to catch fire. I don't see many of these.'_

Usually she ran into mundanes, or sometimes, magi. In _Mahoutokoro_ , the mix was different, but psychics were still a fairly rare sort.

' _I've spent quite some time in the City Beneath the Earth now. And while Hijiri has been…accommodating, I think it may be time to move on soon.'_

Before she got too tied down to any one place, that was. Since the day she'd left the Aozaki lands, the master puppeteer had never had a place to call home, really.

' _But that is something for another time…'_

At the moment, she still had an apprentice to manage, even if he spent most of his time on other disciplines. He would probably never make a great puppeteer, but that was alright. She didn't think she'd find a worthy successor anytime soon anyway.

' _And at least my_ sister _has not.'_

She looked up as a crowd of people disembarked from a just-arrived train, with one of them – Matou Shinji – locating her in the crowd immediately and making his way over to her.

He looked…well, terrible, but she supposed that was to be expected for a dead man.

"Master," the boy greeted, as he came up to her, lugging a heavy case behind him.

"Matou," she replied, lighting one of her cheap Taiwanese cigarettes. "Why have you come?"

The boy sighed, and gestured to the case.

"…I brought you a gift, Master," Shinji stated with a smile. When the puppeteer just stared at him though, as if telling him not to insult her intelligence, the boy swallowed and decided to get to the point. "I need your help."

"And what help can I provide that Tomas cannot?" the redhead questioned, taking a long puff of her cigarette. "Surely he knows your arts better than you do, at this point."

"I'm certainly not going to disagree, but…"

"But, Matou?"

"He doesn't know…the British Museum like you do," Shinji managed, earning himself a sharp _look_ from his Master. "I…you've met Tohsaka."

"One of your lovers, yes?" Touko teased. "Not the one that ran off."

"…not my lover, just an old friend," the boy explained. "She's going through a lot right now. Her sponsor doesn't much care for her, and she…well, she thinks she's alone. That no one cares about her."

"And this is my business because…?"

"Because you're my mentor, Master. Your advice and example has helped me in many ways, and I think it could help her as well," Shinji admitted, looking down. "Please. I know I'm presuming a lot, but…

"I suppose you have provided me with materials for experiments. And that it is good to see you taking responsibility for those in your life," the woman said slowly. "I am willing to do this, though you are to consider it your present for the next two years. Is this understood, Matou?"

"…yes, Master. I am grateful."

"Further, while I spend time helping her, I will be suspending your apprenticeship, given that I will not have time to train you," the Aozaki magus continued. "Not that you have been a poor student, but…"

"I understand, Master," Shinji noted quietly. "To be frank, with my instructions from the Director, I wouldn't be a very good apprentice this year anyway. So, I can agree to that."

The puppeteer looked at her apprentice, her red eyes searching him for any sign of deceit or misgivings, only to find none.

"Hmph. You've grown, Matou."

"Thanks to you, Master. And the others that have guided me along the way."


	9. Rondo of the Sun and Storm

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 9** **.** _Rondo of the Sun and Storm_

A thunderbird swooped low over the crowd, its mighty wings beating in time with the fierce rhythm of _tanuki_ pounding on taiko drums. Once, twice, thrice it circled, coming lower and lower, until it settled at last upon one of the goalposts, issuing a cry of challenge as its feathers and form were engulfed by an aura of eerie blue light – an aura that was discharged with a mighty _BOOM_ as a bolt of lightning streaked to the ground below.

A bolt of brilliant white that was caught by a slim, upraised hand and _shattered_ , with thousands of glowing butterflies wrought of electricity itself illuminating the form of a slender blonde. She was clad in a gown of the finest blue and white silk, her white-gold hair, loose and uncaged, fluttering in an invisible wind as she gestured sharply and the butterflies surged upward to the sky in a vortex of power as if they sought to become the very stars themselves.

One butterfly – brighter than all the rest – did not join its fellows in their flight, lingering in the girl's hand, as she brought it to her head to adorn her golden hair.

The _taiko_ drums – and the murmurs of the watching crowd – fell silent, with woodwinds and strings filling the aural vacuum they left behind as she _moved_ , her skin shining moon-bright as her feet and hands and body traced the well-worn patterns of an ancient rain-dance.

Wisps and tendrils of grey mists, swirled about her, conjured up by her movements alone, her steps sure and certain as they spoke the language of a time before words, when man was one with the land, and brother to the beasts upon it.

At last though, her form was obscured by the fog, which rose to cover the entire stadium.

The wind fell silent, as snare and tenor drums beat out a harsh staccato, a low-pitched counterpoint to a mighty caw as a second bird made its presence known.

An immense three-legged crow, wings silhouetted against the night sky, descended from above, its form blazing with crimson light as it burned away the mist simply by moving, swooping down and buzzing the audience below three times, until at last it settled on the goalpost opposite the bird of the storms, releasing a stream of molten fire towards the field.

Fire that came to a halt above the waiting hand of a raven-haired shrine maiden, the stream gathered up into a sphere of light that grew larger and brighter until it shone like a miniature sun. With a simple _flick,_ the orb was launched skywards, rising and higher until it exploded into thousands upon what seemed like cherry blossoms, glowing with a pale golden light and illuminating the stadium as they drifted down from the heavens towards the figure waiting below.

One bit of crystallized flame lingered in her hands, transforming before the eyes of those watching into a mysterious flower she wove into her hair above her right ear, her red, pleated skirt, and the ribbons in her hair fluttering in the evening breeze.

The snares and tenors fell silent as the _taiko drums_ beat once more, and in the light of the cherry blossoms shining down from above, the maiden danced, feet and hands and body traced the well-worn patterns of an ancient _kagura_ that had once summoned forth the goddess of the sun.

In one of her hands was a _gohei_ , a traditional wand of blessing and purification that spun and twirled and wove about, trailing light in its wake as the girl _moved_ , glowing brighter and brighter as the drumbeats built, until at last the petals came down, and the field – and the maiden upon it – were engulfed in a haze of light.

With a cry of challenge, the bird of the storms took flight, with clouds forming in its wake, blotting out the light as thunder crashed and heavy drops of water began pouring down below, as if angered by actions of the other – only for the bird of the sun to take to the sky, meeting it wing to wing as the two creatures clashed.

One moment, lightning crashed and thunder roared from a stormy sky. The next, sunlight streamed down as the clouds parted, evaporating away in the face of heat so intense, it could be felt from the stands below.

And down on the field, as drum sections beat away furiously, two maidens danced towards, around, past, each other, their movements mirroring each other in a swirl of red and blue as their power shone around them, dying the world in their color.

One was of course, Sajyou Ayaka, the raven-haired champion of _Mahoutokoro,_ the shrine maiden who commanded the power of the rising sun.

The other was Elesa Labelle, the blonde champion of North America, the part-time model whose magic held dominion over the power of storms.

Whirlwinds of power danced with them, weaving between them, among them as they moved, mist meeting sunlight, sunlight meeting rain, butterflies of lightning and blossoms of fire mingling with one another in beautiful vista like nothing anyone had seen before.

Their musicians too warred for dominion in as rhythms played at cross-purposes, each waxing and waning, with cymbals and flutes echoing the rolling of thunder and the cries of the birds clashing above, trading off the lead in an improvised medley that was all the richer, with each instrument's voice distinct and clear in the symphony of conflict.

A lightning bolt streaked down towards the maiden of the sun, only to be deflected by a sphere of fire, with its dissipated electricity crackling harmlessly down into the ground around her.

A burst of fire ripped through the air towards the mistress of the storms, but was torn apart by a sphere of wind, the scattered flames fizzling out in the rain that made her dress cling alluringly to her form.

Faster, faster, faster still both moved, their powers flashing and clashing and crashing all about as sun and storms made war. By their will, the elements surged forth as they gestured and moved, closing in on one another until at last, when the two maidens struck at once, hands wreathed in elemental might flashing outwards only to strike each other palm to palm.

The music stilled, letting the eruption of power – a whole other level from anything that come before – speak for itself, as sun and storm came together in a titanic blaze of flame and lightning that seemed to pierce the very heavens, separating the birds warring above and forcing them to streak upwards and away, as—

 _BOOM!_

—in the sky, the newborn blaze rose like a rocket, until, once among the stars, it scattered into a thousand points of light, forming first the rising sun of Japan and then the stars and stripes of America before plummeting once more to earth.

The two champions stepped back – neither the worse for wear from their release of power, raising their arms, as the falling points of light converged, coming together into the forms of two great birds – a bird of flame and a bird of lightning.

One touched down on the arm of the maiden of the sun, and the other alighted on the arm of the mistress of storms as Sajyou Ayaka and Elesa Labelle stared at each other, blue looking into purple. As if on cue, both raised their arms again as these birds wrought of power took flight, bursting into a thousand motes of starry light and a dusting of fresh snow, trailing rainbows as they fell.

Above them, their familiars buzzed the audience a final time before coming to rest on the Quidditch goal posts of their respective sides, and the musicians played their last with all finally still.

It was hard to say where the clapping started from, but soon enough the sound came from all over, as the audience rose as one, offering the performers – and their familiars – a standing ovation.

As one, the two maidens bowed, first to each other, then to their musicians, and finally to their audience, with the blonde winking and blowing a kiss to those in the stands and the raven-haired girl simply raising her hand in greeting, before both finally left the field.

* * *

In the VIP box, the small exclusive section set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts, Matou Shinji – like those all around him – stood clapping, stunned by the display that had just taken place on the field below.

Choreographed or not, he could _feel_ the quality – and quantity – of the prana that had been spent during their performance, thus had a rough idea of just how powerful the two maidens truly were. Perhaps that was to be expected though, as they were _champions_ of their school and nation, which made him feel more than a little inadequate.

The effortless grace with which the two had moved, the power they both obviously wielded, the skill and control they possessed – seemed far removed from anything a human could ever be capable of. In fact, seeing Sajyou-san clash with Labelle-san, with her Yatagarasu clashing with the mysterious bird of the storms, reminded him of the old legends – of the conflict between…

"Amaterasu and Susanoo," the boy whispered, without knowing he had spoken – the names of the goddess of the sun and the god of storms.

After all, the light and sound of the performance reminded him of _taiko_ drumming's mythical origins, when Ame-no-Uzume had emptied out a barrel of sake and danced furiously on top of it to lure the goddess of the sun of out the cave in which she'd taken shelter.

"I'm not sure I would go so far as to call her a goddess, but Sajyou-sama was indeed most impressive," the person standing next to him murmured. "…as was Labelle-san," the other added, almost an afterthought.

As the applause tapered off and everyone took their seats, Shinji glanced beside him to see a girl somewhat older than him, dressed in a midnight-blue _yukata_ , with delicate features, raven-colored hair falling to her waist and almond-colored eyes that seemed very kind.

Tsuchimikado Hokuto, granddaughter to the head of the Japanese Council of Magic.

"They're champions," Shinji offered simply. "It would make sense for them to be strong."

"Indeed," Hokuto noted, raising an eyebrow. "Though as I understand from Peverell-dono, you are a Champion as well, are you not? If somewhat younger than usual."

"…both of those things are true, yes," the boy admitted, raising an eyebrow at the notion that someone would refer to the puppet with such…respect. "So how exactly do you know Tomas? Did he perhaps teach you?"

"No," the girl said quietly. "I am but his sparring partner."

"I see," Shinji noted, raising an eyebrow. The notion that someone would actually be Tomas' regular sparring partner unsettled him, given what it implied about the other's abilities. "You must be quite capable."

"I presume the same of you, given that you were once his student, yes?" the Tsuchimikado heiress inquired solicitously, her eyes seeming somehow sharper, more dangerous. "Perhaps you would do me the honor of being my opponent? I find myself wishing to test my capacity."

"Hokuto, now is not the proper time to issue a challenge to the British Champion," an older, statelier voice broke in, with the girl stiffening at the reprimand. "Today, we are here to honor our Champion and our athletes as they perform for our nation's glory."

Shinji had never actually met the Chairman of the Japanese Council of Magic before, but he found that Tsuchimikado Masaaki, an aged but powerful man who wore a formal kimono of black trimmed with gold, matched his expectations in every way.

' _Even if I think Matsuo-san is probably the true power behind_ Mahoutokoro _, given her command of the portal system, the boundaries and more.'_

"My apologies, grandfather," Hokuto said demurely. "I was simply curious about Matou-san's abilities."

"And I am sure you will learn them in the fullness of time," the Chairman noted.

"Well said, Masaaki," another voice spoke up, this one with a distinguished American accent. "I must say, I rather prefer a rousing game of Quodpot to Quidditch, but it _is_ nice to finally make the quarter-finals of the World Cup. First time for both our nations, I believe."

"As you say, Samuel." Tsuchimikado Masaaki inclined his head towards the man sitting to his right, a powerful looking African-American wizard lacking much in the way of hair, facial or otherwise. "The first, but not the last."

"Well, I'll drink to that." Samuel G. Quahog, President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, and the head of the US wizarding government proceeded to do just that, raising a flask to toast his Japanese counterpart as he took a drink. "Though I must say I'm surprised. When I agreed to the demonstration, I didn't think anyone would be able to match Elesa, but I suppose _Mahoutokoro_ 's fierce reputation isn't just for show, is it?"

"That, it is not, Samuel," Masaaki admitted. "I will say, I did not anticipate Labelle-san being able to match Sajyou-san either, but for a new nation, America is certainly full of surprises."

"I can't disagree with that," the American President quipped. "Not when Germany learned that the hard way. Just like Australia got a little complacent with you."

"Mm. Pity. I doubt Bulgaria do the same when we face them," the Chairman of the Japanese Council of Magic noted softly.

"You mean _if_ you face them," President Quahog quipped wryly. "Let's not be getting ahead of ourselves, Masaaki. You still have to beat us first, and we won't go down without a fight."

"Alas, but Samuel, this isn't the Quodpot World Cup, is it?" the head of the Japanese Council of Magic asked slyly.

"Heh. You can say that again," the American president grunted. "Not enough explosions."

Whatever else the American president might have been about to say was lost, as two figures made their entry into the VIP box, side by side, with the others rising and turning as they did.

"Miss Labelle, Miss Sajyou," President Quahog greeted, reach out and shaking the hands of the two Champions. "A most impressive demonstration."

"I must agree," Chairman Tsuchimikado added. "You do both our countries great honor, showing our might before the world."

"Thank you, Mister President," Elesa replied, bowing first to her head of state and then to the Chairman of the Japanese Council of Magic. "And Your Excellency, of course. It is always an honor and privilege to stand before an audience – especially one the size of this one."

There was a certain energy in performing in front of others, she found, especially when the eyes of a crowd were focused on her, as was often enough the case during fashion shows. During the summers, after all, she modeled some of the latest fashions for the magical world of America – some of which she helped to design herself.

Sajyou Ayaka, however, grimaced at her American counterpart's line, for unlike the other Champion, she did not enjoy being around too many other people, even if only half the stadium's capacity was currently being used. On the field, she had thrown herself into the demonstration, letting the rest of the world fall away, as if those around her did not exist.

"Your praise is welcome…but unnecessary, Your Excellencies," was all the shrine maiden said, bowing to the two heads of state. "Duty is its own reward."

"A very conscientious young lady, aren't you?" President Quahog asked, eyeing the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ curiously. "I wish you all the best in the Competition to come. Though I would lying if I said Miss Labelle was not my favorite."

"As it should be," Ayaka noted solemnly, as yet another figure entered the box – a rather powerfully built man whose body had gone to seed, as evinced by the way his set of ill-fitting Quidditch robes of yellow and black was stretched painfully tight across his large belly. In manner though, he resembled nothing so much as an overgrown, overenthusiastic schoolboy, walking as though there were springs attached to the balls of his feet.

The man noted the collection of dignitaries before him and bowed slightly.

"Your Excellencies," he greeted, nodding to the two heads of state. "Ladies," he added, flashing a smile at the model and the shrine maiden. And then he raised an eyebrow as he took in the sitting figures. "Oh…and even our very own Potions Champion, I see! I rather thought I'd be seeing you at the finals, Mister Matou! I was sure the Chief Warlock had given you tickets. "

Shinji swallowed as the attention of those in the box shifted to him.

"He did, but I passed them along," the boy explained. "I thought one of my benefactors would appreciate them more than I." Then he blinked as he realized he had no idea who he was talking to. "I'm afraid you have me a disadvantage. Who might you be?"

"Ah yes, where are my manners?" the man asked, cracking a friendly smile. "Let me start over then. My name is Ludo Bagman, head of the British Ministry's Department of Magical Games and Sports, and it is my pleasure to welcome you personally to the last quarter-finals game of the hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup. I understand, your Excellencies, that this is the first time either of your nations had made it so far in the competition?"

"Indeed."

"This is true."

"Ah, splendid – in which case, this is a rather historic occasion, isn't it?" Bagman asked excitedly. "Especially with that pre-game performance livening up the crowd! Quite a spectacle you put on."

"Thank you, Mister Bagman," Elesa spoke quietly. "We do try."

"Certainly beats the trolls the Nordic Team brought in, that's for sure," the Head of Magical Games and Sports announced. "Anyway, this should be a game to remember, as it will mark the first time either Japan or the USA advances to the semis. I'm excited. There's always something about a first time you never forget."

"Be that as it may Mister Bagman," the American president intoned. "Perhaps it is a good idea for us to take our seats, so you might get started?"

"Yes. Yes, I rather agree," Ludo Bagman concurred. "If you would kindly do so."

They did, with Sajyou Ayaka settling in on Matou's left, with Elesa Labelle taking a seat next to President Quahog.

"…when you said you were required to attend this game as _Mahoutokoro's_ Champion, I didn't think you meant you'd be performing," the boy murmured, leaning over towards the fox's apprentice. "Nor that the performance would be so…beautiful."

"You enjoyed it then, Matou?"

"I did. Probably more than I'll enjoy the game itself," Shinji admitted, with Ludo Bagman twitching as he heard the boy's comment.

However Ayaka would have responded would remain a mystery as, using _Sonorus_ to amplify his words, Ludo Bagman welcomed the national Quidditch teams of Japan and the United States to the field, and last quarter-final game of Quidditch World Cup began.

* * *

As exciting as the pre-show performance had turned out to be, Matou Shinji had not originally intended to attend any of the Quidditch World Cup, given that he had no great affection for the sport. After everything that happened, he simply wanted to return to his training, and so he had done so.

In the days after talking with his former Master about aiding Tohsaka, he had remained in _Mahoutokoro_ , diligently studying from the _Book of Potions_ and working on a number of water manipulation exercises by walking on the surface of the river that bisected the city – something that got him a number of strange looks from the _kappa_ who lived there.

It was here Sajyou Ayaka had found him after returning from her survival training.

"Matou," she'd greeted, with Shinji almost losing his balance as he whirled about at the unexpected voice to see the bespectacled young woman on one of the city's many bridges, her black hair falling like silk about the shoulders of a well-worn training _gi_ and _hakama_.

"Sajyou-san," the boy had replied, bowing deeply to the other champion. "When did you return?"

"This morning," Ayaka had told him, her eyes examining him critically. "You appear…somewhat improved from before. Matsuo-san was able to assist you then?"

"She was. And the one she sent me to," Shinji had said, with a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he remembered his week in Tahiti.

"Lovegood, I assume?"

"…indeed," the boy allowed, wondering if it was that obvious. "Even if what I had to take care of after that was not nearly as pleasant." He had paused, shaking his head. "Did you enjoy your time in the mountains?"

"It was not unpleasant," the fox's apprentice had related quietly. "But then, I do not much mind solitude."

"I did get that impression," Shinji had murmured. He even understood, given that in his early days at Hogwarts, the mere presence of so many people – especially those who used their arts so frivolously – had greatly disturbed him. "Though you don't seem to mind spending time with Kaiduka."

"He is my Master. And the closest thing I have to family," the other had said, her lips tightening ever so slightly. "My…condolences on the loss of yours, Matou Shinji."

"…thanks." Shinji had shaken his head, as the past was still not something he found entirely comfortable to deal with. "I appreciate it."

"Many years ago, when I lost mine, my Master found me," the girl had related. "He took me in and raised me as his own."

"I see," the boy had noted. "Your story sounds kind of like Emiya's. Well, Fujou's, rather." Then he had thought of something. "Does that mean you've known Matsuo-san for a while then?"

"Indeed," Ayaka had confirmed. "The Maiden of the Tree was one of my early mentors. And in answer to your unasked question, in manner and appearance, she was much the same as she is today."

"…somehow, I'd suspected as much."

"To me, _Mahoutokoro_ is the only home I truly have now," she had said. "I suspect the same is true of you."

"…more or less," Shinji had conceded. "I do have a house in London, but I'm not sure if I can see myself living there long term. I didn't buy it for myself, really."

"So your familiar has mentioned," Ayaka had said dryly. "I found it odd that you were courting the Tohsaka heiress when you already had Lovegood."

"…I wouldn't call it courting. I just wanted her to think I was special. Because once, she was…" The boy had trailed off. Once, Tohsaka Rin had been the one he looked up to and admired, as so many in Fuyuki did. But things had changed, and his small purchase had been a bit… _too_ effective in winning her affections.

The thought of Tohsaka reacting so strongly to the news of his death that on finding out he was alive, she had thrown herself at him, offering herself to him, was something that evoked mixed feelings in him. On the one hand, he couldn't deny part of him – the side of him which craved recognition and wanted to be seen as special – would have been more than happy to accept her embraces. On the other, there was another part of him that rejected the notion of taking advantage of someone when she was so utterly vulnerable – and further, knew that not only did he not need to do so to be accepted, but that if he did, he would be betraying someone who trusted him completely.

And that he would not do.

"It is complicated, then?" the young witch had mused. "Human beings are often so, due to misunderstandings."

"…that much, I can agree with."

Sajyou Ayaka had looked into the distance, shaking her head as she mulled over something, before coming to a decision.

"Matou."

"Yes, Sajyou-san?"

"I am…glad…to hear that you have recovered your focus. I look forward to working with you in the coming weeks," the witch had said. "What you have mentioned of this _Book of Potions_ sounds fascinating."

"It is fairly useful, I'll admit," Shinji had agreed. "So when shall we begin? I take it that it won't be immediately, since you have just returned from a training trip?"

"Indeed. Even if I desired to, I cannot, given my other duties as champion," Ayaka had noted. "As _Mahoutokoro's_ champion, my presence has been requested at the USA vs Japan Quarterfinals match of the Quidditch World Cup. While I have no great love for the sport, my attendance is unfortunately not optional."

"I see."

But the witch had not yet finished.

"I do not enjoy the company of strangers, Matou," she had remarked, seeming somewhat troubled. "Yet, given that I will be travelling as part of the Japanese delegation, the British Ministry will no doubt send provide such a one to guide me. Unless…."

"You want me to be your native guide, so to speak?"

"If it would not be troublesome," Ayaka had said. "Otherwise, Tsuchimikado has mentioned that Peverell-san would be more than willing to be of assistance."

"…you were a great help to me in my quest to obtain a familiar. The least I can do is to help you as well."

"Mm. Then settle your affairs and meet me at 7 in front of the Council Hall," the girl had instructed. "And Matou?"

"Yes?"

"Do prepare adequately. This time you do not have the excuse of unfamiliarity."

"…I'll do my best."

With that, she had left, with it finally occurring to Shinji afterwards that he actually had no idea what to expect from a Quidditch World Cup – but that there were two people in _Mahoutokoro_ who probably did know the ins-and-out of it.

The Twins, who fortunately had not yet departed on their familiar hunting expedition quite yet.

' _I'm sure they won't mind sitting down for lunch with me. It_ has _been a while, after all…'_

As it had turned out, they did not mind, and so the trio had met at Daikokuya, one of Mahoutokro's best ramen joints for lunch, with each of them ordering very healthy potions of delicious _tonkotsu_ ramen, with sides of _gyoza_ and fried rice.

"…you've been training with Tomas?" Shinji had asked, on hearing just who Fred was studying under. "He…what's he been teaching you?"

"Defense," Fred had grunted. "And giving me some basic instruction on apparition."

"How'd you meet him?"

"He visited while I was recovering from getting my arse kicked by the granddaughter of the Chairman of the Japanese Council of Magic," the Weasley twin had admitted. "She's bloody tough, mate. It would be like trying to fight Lovegood in her special form."

"…eep."

"Sounds like I've gotten the better end of the deal, while I was here, brother of mine," George had broken in jovially. "After all, it's nice going about and exploring this city with a lovely girl. A Fujou Kohaku, who was kind enough to show me one of the best shops here."

"Oh?" Shinji had asked, raising an eyebrow as his comrade brought up Fujou Shiroe's redheaded cousin. "What's the shop, and what does it sell?"

"It's called _Asplund's Shop of Horrors_ ," George had said, with Shinji's expression freezing on his face at the other boy's words. "You've been there, the shopkeeper told me. Bought your second wand from him, I think?"

"I…see. And what did you buy, praytell?"

"Two rings. One for myself and one for Kohaku-san," George had related, with Fred almost choking on his food as he looked over at his twin in shock.

"Um, not to judge, brother of mine, but isn't that a bit…premature…?" Fred had asked when he wasn't coughing anymore, disbelief written across his face. "Normally a bloke would get to know a girl a little before…"

"Huh? What do you…oh." George's face had been something of a work of art when he realized what his brother was implying. "Ohhhhh. No. You have it all wrong, brother of mine. Kohaku-san is just a good friend."

"A good friend that you go shopping with. And go out for meals with after your classes, just the two of you. A good friend you… _bought a ring for_?!" Fred had been slightly incredulous, and for good reason.

"We're just friends," George had insisted. "Like Matou and Tohsaka. I mean, I'm sure he's done some extravagant things for her, right?"

Shinji had been quite glad he hadn't been drinking anything at the time, or he too would embarrassed himself. As it was, he just sighed and shook his head.

"Forge, while you mean well, let's _not_ use Hogwarts' resident playboy as a standard of comparison. Unless you want your love life to end up in the _Prophet_ like his does?"

"Oh you wound me, Gred, you wound me. And at least my first thought after waking up in the hospital isn't that I wanted the girl who kicked my arse to smile," George had grumbled, looking away with his face as red as his hair.

"…be that as it may," Shinji had groused, breaking up the byplay before the two could draw any _more_ unwarranted attention. "I wanted to share some advice with you before your expedition. And to ask for a little myself."

"Oh?" the brothers asked together. "And what can we do for wee little Matou?"

"Well, I hope by now you've realized that wherever you'll be going for your expedition, you'll probably need a tent, right?"

"Already—"

"—got one."

"And supplies?"

"Kohaku-san warned me about that and helped me find supplies," George had noted. "Anything else?"

"Just that the journey will be a dangerous one, and that as powerful as you are, you should be aware of your limits," the Matou boy had cautioned. "There are things out there beyond either of you. Beyond me."

"…oh I know that much," Fred had grumbled. "And not just out there either…"

"Be that as it may, you're probably going to be given some responsibilities during the trip. Guard duty, forage duty, setting camp and more."

"We can handle that!"

"Right you are, brother of mine."

"I'm sure you can…but if you have problems, any problems, let whoever is leading the expedition know?" Shinji had sighed, remembering how he had fallen asleep while on watch last year and how he'd nearly died when an _onikuma_ had attacked. "I don't want to see either of you two hurt."

The two brothers, seeing that their friend was quite serious, had nodded solemnly.

"We'll try our best."

"Anything else, Matou?"

Shinji had chuckled.

"Just remember that you aren't going to a pet store, that you're entering the territory of the spirits to seek a partner, and that you're going to be tested, tried, watched."

"Do we need to…be more formal then?"

"Not necessarily," Shinji had related. "After all, there are a good number of prankster _youkai_ too." His lips had quirked as he remembered one particular _youkai_ whose prank he hadn't appreciated. "Like the _tanuki."_

"So how can we help you?"

"As it turns out, I will be showing someone around the Quidditch World Cup stadium and such today," the Matou boy had said. "Last minute thing, but USA vs Japan is kind of a big thing here, and well, she doesn't know anyone else."

"'She', Matou?" George had inquired.

"Oh no, brother of mine, another mysterious young lady has fallen victim to Matou's charms!" Fred had gasped.

"…it is nothing of the sort," Shinji had growled. "Sajyou Ayaka is just someone I owe very much to. She was the one who kept Luna and I safe during our expedition last year. And well, she's _Mahoutokoro's_ Champion, to boot. She's taught me a lot, and I can't even begin to repay her."

"Forge," George had cut in. "I'll bet you 10 Galleons that this will be in tomorrow's _Daily Prophet."_

"Gred, there's no way I'm taking that bet."

"…if you two are quite finished amusing yourselves, I really could use the help," an exasperated Matou Shinji had finally said. "Please."

So the two had filled him in about the World Cup and how it ran, how the stadium had taken a Ministry task force of five hundred people a year to build, some of the history of the World Cups, and some of the souvenirs to look out for.

"Any idea who's going to win?" Shinji had asked when the two finally finished.

"Probably Japan, since they're a bit more motivated," Fred had supplied.

"If they lose, their teams burns their brooms, or so we hear. That would be good motivation for me!" George had added. "Still, don't think they'll beat Bulgaria though."

"And who do you think will win the Cup?"

The twins looked each other and shrugged.

"Ireland, but Krum will catch the Snitch," they said as one.

Their words would prove prophetic, as Japan defeated the United States 210-60 after a close battle for the Golden Snitch, only to be beaten by Bulgaria in the semi-finals, which in turn was defeated by Ireland, with one of the British nations claiming the Cup for the first time in decades.

…and sports aside, a gossip columnist for the _Daily Prophet_ managed to capture a photograph of Matou Shinji walking around with Sajyou Ayaka, accompanied by an article rife with speculation as to his love life, and his involvement with the Eastern Champion.

* * *

Looking out over the darkened stadium from the VIP box, Cornelius Fudge smiled in satisfaction as he recounted the glorious match that had just transpired, with Ireland defeating Bulgaria 170-160 to claim the Quidditch World Cup.

' _It's hard to believe it took us a year to build this...and that soon we'll have to tear it all down…'_

His hands brushed the wooden railing of the box as he surveyed the empty seats where only hours before, a hundred thousand wizards had sat and cheered. He – and those under him – like Ludovic Bagman, head of Magical Games and Sports, and Lucius Malfoy, head of the Department of International Cooperation – had made this – all of this possible.

' _It took us long enough, but I think we've finally recovered from You-Know-Who's reign of terror.'_

During the war, as a member of the Department of the Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, he had seen so much death, dealt with requests from so many terrified people, with Black's—no, _Pettigrew's_ last act – being the worst.

Perhaps by Muggle standards, the First Wizarding War – and the casualties of it had been a small affair, but with the entire population of Magical Britain numbering around 12,000, every life mattered, and seeing so much suffering had nearly broken him.

Dumbledore and Crouch, the one who had led the vigilante organization called the Order of the Phoenix and the one who had authorized the use of the Unforgivables against the Death Eaters, respectively, were those who the public saw as the heroes of the war.

Those who stood and fought – those who resisted – those who stood for what was right, regardless of the cost. But then, it had been easy for them, for they never saw the horrors of war in the same way _he_ had.

He was the one who had deal with the fallout after every battle. Who saw the corpses, the destruction, the countless dead, and wept to see brother turning against brother, father turning against son. Who wrote the letters of condolences to any civilians who had been caught up in the struggle and inadvertently killed, either by the Dark Lord or by the Ministry's Aurors as collateral damage.

To be honest, Cornelius Fudge had never really wanted to be Minister, nor expected it. As a career politician, there were certain expectations that he would run of course, but he'd done so as a formality, since it had been obvious that either Albus Dumbledore or Bartemius "Barty" Crouch would succeed Millicent Bagnold.

Against all odds though, he'd ended up winning, with Dumbledore refusing to take the position and Crouch losing popular support after what happened to his son, and frankly, he'd had no idea what in the name of Merlin he was supposed to do.

He'd been very uncertain of himself during that first year as Minister, asking Dumbledore for help – until a source had revealed that his idol had feet of clay. He hadn't wanted to believe it at the time, but as Minister, he had to see if it was true, and so on the advice of Lucius Malfoy, he'd deployed his Aurors to Hogwarts, where he'd found that Dumbledore had not only allowed Rubeus Hagrid possession of a wand, but was letting him _raise a dragon_.

And under Dumbledore's watch, a teacher and a student had died at the hands of a Dark Wizard, with many more injured, which Fudge felt some responsibility for. It had been yet another death on his conscience

Hence, when Black escaped in his second year in office, he'd listened to Alastor Moody, the legendary Auror who was serving at Hogwarts' Defense Professor, when the man had asked him not to deploy Dementors around Hogwarts, and instead leave a squad of Hit Wizards. That year, Dumbledore and Crouch had died in their sleep, and Black – his personal bogeyman – had been found to be innocent, after it was discovered that Pettigrew was alive.

So in his third year, he had appointed people he could trust to positions of power – people like Lucius Malfoy, who had helped him in his early years, and tried to make up for everything that gone wrong. With quiet pressure from his office, Hogwarts received more support, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement agreed to dispatch Aurors as Defense Professors, and Britain had managed to secure host country status for the Quidditch World Cup.

That year he'd stood on his own, working in the background to try and make Britain a better place, as he had during his time in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. He knew that Lucius liked the limelight and attention, so he let the other man have it, as Lucius was frankly better at it than he was.

' _And he'll make a good Minister too, once my term ends. He was right, and Dumbledore was wrong, sadly…'_

This year bade to be a year of peace and prosperity for his nation.

The Tri-Wizard Tournament had been restarted.

Britain – for once – had a champion for the World Potions Competition.

A British team had outright _won_ the Quidditch World Cup, not just gotten to the quarter-finals, or so.

And with the death of Dolores Umbridge and the checks on Ministry corruption, much needed reforms were finally moving through the Wizengamot.

Cornelius Fudge smiled and removed his hat as he sighed.

There would be a lot of hard work ahead, but he was no stranger to that. He never had been – he just was a man who wanted peace.

But as he turned and made down the stairs, alone under a beautiful full moon, he heard a chilling sound coming from outside – the baying of wolves.

' _What?'_

He ran, his feet carrying him down the steps two by two, three by three as he made his way to ground level and flung open a door to the outside, where he saw…

' _No…'_

Before him, the world _burned_.

What had once been a place of revelry had been changed into a killing field, with beasts of flame surging across the ground faster than a man could run, their fangs and tongues and gaping maws devouring all in their path.

The metallic scent of fresh-spilled blood blended with putrid odor of charred flesh, the smell of death so thick and rich he could almost taste it.

Blood and death. Blood and shadow. Blood and fear.

Wails rang out in the distance, interspersed with the _crack-crack-crack_ of spellfire, but this feeble resistance was soon cut short, wails replaced with the sound of frenzied wolves howling to the moon above.

' _No…'_

In his horror, he didn't notice that the stadium, too, had caught fire, and so simply stood there frozen, as the place where Britain had won her crowning achievement became the funeral pyre of an age of peace, with Cornelius Fudge, the Minister who had only wanted a world without war, shedding silent tears as he - and his dreams - burned away to ash.


	10. Truth and Ideals

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 10** **.** _Truth and Ideals_

As the stars shone down like points of fire from the jet-black firmament of the sky above, Matou Shinji sighed as he worked to sauté a mixture of rice, wild onion, dill, and wild mushrooms that would become part of tomorrow's lunch.

"Acceptable," a voice said from beside him, with Sajyou Ayaka ladling some rich-looking broth into the saucepan Shinji was using, and stirring the mix a bit. "Simmer that."

"How long?"

"Until the rice is finished," the Witch directed, eyeing the rather large pile of blanched _kuzu_ (Japanese arrowroot, or kudzu) leaves sitting by the boy.

"At which point I stir in the yuzu juice and begin spooning the filling into the leaves," Shinji noted.

"Mm," was all the bespectacled young woman said as she turned back to a pot filled with a merrily bubbling broth rich with mushrooms, ginger, scallions, sliced kudzu leaves and wild vegetables aplenty, from which emanated a fragrant, earthy aroma that caused Shinji's stomach to growl.

"That smells good," the boy noted, peering over at the pot. "Though the soup looks a bit thick for noodles."

"T _sukemen_ ," Ayaka explained.

"Ah."

 _Tsukemen,_ wasessentially a form of ramen, save that the noodles and broth were served separately, with the thickened broth to be used as a dipping sauce. And on a cold Hokkaido night, something hot was quite delicious indeed.

The two were silent for some time as they continued to work on their respective dishes, with Shinji adding a pinch of yuzu juice to the saucepan as the broth was absorbed by the rice and spooning the mix into the _kuzu_ leaves.

"What's that you're doing?" the boy asked, observing how his companion was now adding a marshmallow into the pot, swirling it into the bubbling broth until it dissolved away completely. He'd never seen anyone do that before.

' _Of course, there are many things I haven't seen anyone do before, except her…'_

It was strange that despite how common Japanese Arrowroot was worldwide, he didn't think he'd ever seen anyone eat it before, with most people treating it only as a weed. The same was generally true of dandelion, though he'd learned last summer how delicious a salad of fresh dandelion greens could be, with the greens adding a pleasantly bitter bite to things, and how the roots could be eaten much like carrots.

Yet Sajyou-san seemed very familiar with all the ways in which the plants around her could be used, and how to identify them, managing to forage quite a bit every day, and make something delicious with what she gathered every night. So when he saw her doing something that seemed strange, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Noting his query, the girl simply motioned for Shinji to bring his cup closer, at which point, she ladled a small portion into it.

"Taste," she commanded.

The boy did so gingerly, his eyes closing in pleasure as he savored the taste. Unlike what he'd feared would be the case, the added marshmallow didn't make the broth cloyingly sweet, but added a smoky creaminess to the broth that paired well with the earthy flavors of the plump mushrooms, roots, and wild greens that comprised its other ingredients.

"…this is delicious," he murmured, looking at the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_. "You're pretty unusual, you know. In a good way."

"I am aware," was the reply, as she waved a hand and banked the flames. "I am not like most others. Even in _Mahoutokoro."_

"Mm," Shinji said as he continued wrapping rice and vegetables inside the _kuzu_ leaves, popping one of the finished products into his mouth with a slow smile. "Where did you learn this? All of this?"

"My Master," the young woman answered. "Kaiduka."

"Not your family?"

"No," Ayaka answered, with Shinji getting the feeling she wouldn't say any more on the topic. "Are you almost finished with your work? If so, I will serve dinner."

The meal was divine. He'd guessed it would be from the small sip of the broth he'd had earlier, but actually tasting more of it, sampling the richness of its ingredients and the viscosity of it was almost magical, especially paired with the noodles, which were served _al dente_ and chilled.

"I have a lot to learn, don't I?" the boy murmured, shaking his head as he enjoyed his food. "About cooking and well…everything. Especially regarding the Potions Competition."

"You do," the Witch admitted. "You are more skilled than you once were, but…"

"That's not saying much," Shinji said, looking down. "I know how bad I was last year. How you and Luna knew what you were doing, and I didn't. How I didn't even bring a tent." He chuckled, as he looked around. "Not that we have one now."

"No, we do not," Ayaka replied simply. "And certainly not a magical tent."

"Why is that?"

"Because such is not permitted during the competition," the Witch explained. "You may enter with an animal companion, and perhaps a small set of tools and supplies, such as stock or such, but that is all."

"Right…the first phase is a test of survival, isn't it?" the boy recalled. "So I'll have to cook with what I can forage, and create what shelters I can."

"Indeed. Knowledge of herblore is useful for more than gathering potions ingredients."

"True enough," Shinji admitted. "Thanks for having me along."

"A simple enough exchange for the knowledge of the _Book of Potions,_ " Ayaka replied, as she devoured the noodles she'd made with good appetite. "Even if the hermit within is essentially an aged y _ūrei._ "

 _Yūrei_ were spirits that clung to the physical world and refused to pass on until their unfinished business was complete.

"His wish is to aid a potioneer to win the World Potions Competition, before he can move on," the boy said quietly. "I've seen a few practitioners linger in this world to a degree in Britain, but none so powerful. I think he anchored himself to the book. It's…strange. I'm not sure I could desire to win a competition that much."

Except if Sokaris desired it of him, perhaps…but she had not commanded him to win, only saying that she would be interesting in seeing what he would do as a champion.

" _Yūrei_ are odd beings," Ayaka noted matter-of-factly. "Especially among practitioners who refuse to pass on."

"I know, among magi, we have two kinds of human 'ghosts' – apparitions, which are simply fragments of a departed soul, and wraiths, which are the souls themselves," Shinji said quietly. "Only both degrade over time, which is not the case with spirits of practitioners."

"Mm. They are human, but also inhuman," the Witch noted. "For their souls are not recycled and broken down, but move as a whole to the world of _youkai_ , on the other side of the World."

"Except if they are fragmented, with a portion of them passing, and a portion remaining as what the Wizarding World would call a ghost. They persist and cling to what life they can, as shadows of their former selves." The boy frowned. "Come to think of it, they don't have much power either, unlike certain spirits which bind themselves to say, a book, or…a diadem. It's almost like when a practitioner dies, their power passes on to the other side, but not necessarily their mind. The only exception is if there is something to anchor their power in advance."

"A bold step. One which would require a particularly strong desire and will. I wonder if in life, he was attuned to the domain of metal."

"Hm?"

"Metal is an uncommon domain among practitioners, as it is strongly associated with ideals," Ayaka explained. "In the Wu Xing, the foundation of our art and that which ties us to the world, Wood encompasses the aspects of life and mind, Fire of change and destruction, Earth of stability, Water of connection and transformations. And metal with ideals, will, and the stars."

"…Fujou Shiroe has a Metal affinity," Shinji recalled. "With a sub-affinity for the aspect of Forging, I believe."

"Balanced with one for Sword," the Witch noted. "An uncommon thing indeed, though it would explain his desire to save – to become a blade. Much unlike his sister, who falls under the domain of Wood. Many in her family do, explaining their unusual vitality."

"I see. And what is your domain then?" the boy inquired. "You already know mine, I'm sure."

Sajyou Ayaka was silent for nearly a minute before she spoke, and when she did, it was so quiet that Shinji did not know if he'd heard correctly at all.

"Wuji," she intoned, looking away.

"Wuji…?" Shinji echoed. "But what…?"

"It exists outside the system of the Five Processes, and is not bounded by any of them," Ayaka said quietly. "It is outside of yin and yang, encompassing everything and nothing. The word itself simply means 'limitless.'"

"…limitless, you say."

"…like my sister," the girl remarked bitterly, a tinge of something indescribable flitting across her features for a moment before it was gone. "Limitless, but this vessel is not. Limitless, but the mind is not. Limitless. The beauty of the world. The ugliness of the world. Fragility. Resilience. Hope. Despair. The truth I see in all things. The knowledge…is…terrifying. For what is a person without limits?"

"…I see."

Shinji was startled by the girl's admission, but all the more curious as to who she was and where she had come from.

"It would be easy to become undone. Or to undo. To attempt to tear the ugliness of the world apart and create something more. Alas that such would destroy the beautiful as well. But Labelle-san does not have to worry about such things."

"You know her?" the boy asked, curious.

"Only the truth of what she is," Ayaka noted. "Someone who is a champion of ideals. Who will not let the pattern of the world stand in her way as she seeks to create something new. What is lost will be lost, and what will be gained is more."

"America must be a very different land," Shinji said wryly. "I don't know much about it, only that according to the Tower, it's even more of a backwater than Japan, and yet…"

"…it is different indeed," the Witch replied. "It is not a land of tradition, but a land where the broken, the weary, the poor and the tired came to rest. Where many fled the persecution of the Church and the Templars, only to persecute others. It is a land of contradictions and schisms. But it is also a land of ideals, of people forged by the storms from many into one."

"I heard about one of their factions, at least. The Illuminati, I think it was."

"One of those opposed to the Templars, yes," Ayaka affirmed. She hesitated for a moment, but shook her head. "She is like me, and she is not."

"Truth and ideals."

"Indeed."

Ayaka poured them both a cup of _kuzu_ root tea, an infusion which soothed aches and pains and eased the burdens of the day before as their conversation took a different turn.

"Speaking of truths, would you know where my colleagues went off to?" Shinji inquired. "For their familiar expedition, I mean."

"They and the Fujous went to Aokigahara."

"…the suicide forest?" the boy asked, blinking as his lips curved into a frown. The Sea of Trees at the foot of Mt. Fuji was perhaps the most popular suicide site in all of Japan, if not the world. "Why of all places…?"

"It has been said that there are onryō within," Ayaka said solemnly, as she adjusted her spectacles. "The forest calls to those who are distraught, drawing them to that place. You know the tales of how Aokigahara is a place of spirits and demons, yes?"

"…they're true, aren't they?"

"Indeed. The Fujou are mediums by lineage and nature. To seek out the spirits of the fallen and send them to their rest is the first great test of their abilities."

"Forgive me, but isn't that a bit risky?" Shinji asked bluntly. "Shiroe has had less than two years of training, and now…?"

"Better he face this challenge now, and overcome it, than something far worse. Aokigahara is not the worst of places one could be sent."

The boy shook his head.

"Maybe not, but I'm concerned about Fred and George," he said quietly. "They don't have the resistance a magus would, and if a _youkai_ was to attack."

"Trust in your comrades, Matou Shinji," Ayaka replied simply, turning to regard the boy with an unreadable expression. "For do they not trust in you?"

* * *

Against the warnings of the Aurors leading him and a few other survivors to safety, Ron Weasley turned to look back and _froze,_ paralyzed by the sight of beasts of flame and flesh surging across the ground as blood-curdling howls tore apart the night.

' _No…'_

How could this be happening?

How…how could there be _giants_ rampaging through the campsite, with wolves surging through and into tents, to the sound of terrified screams? They couldn't…couldn't be this bold. And those creature of flame, was that…

"…Fiendfyre?" the boy squeaked, as a hand grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him around, bringing him face to face with Auror Hillard – formerly Robert Hillard – the former Head Boy of Hogwarts.

"Yes, Mister Weasley. That's Fiendfyre, and right now, with everything else going on, we don't have the means to stop it," Hillard said bluntly, his lips tight. "Not with so few of us."

"But…Mum is…" Ron whispered, remembering the terror he'd felt when he'd stepped outside, only to see his mother's throat being ripped out by a particularly ugly werewolf. His brothers had tried to stop it, but a giant had gotten them – all of them.

All of them but Percy, who hadn't tried to fight it, and had just gotten him and Ginny away, along with levitating a concussed Arthur, not giving them any time to look back as they desperately tried to find someone from the security staff – but since the games were over, there were no ICW Quidditch Committee Personnel left, only a handful of Aurors on their off hours.

"Robert," Percy had said, finding his old rival together with his mentor, Auror Tonks, as they dispatched two werewolves, defending a crowd of younger students. "Thank Merlin. What's going…?"

And then a bloom of fiendfyre had erupted, beasts of flame surging across the ground and setting everything on fire, cutting them off from the nearest way out.

"…the anti-apparition field is still up," Hillard had whispered, shaking himself as he failed to dematerialize. Without apparition…there was no way he'd be able to save anyone who was trapped inside. He turned around, seeing one place that was still untouched by flames – beyond which safety lay, he thought. "We have to go now. The forest – it's our only hope. Tonks, Percy, take the rear. I'll take point"

"Not that I'm doubting you, Robert, but are you sure…?" Percy had begun, only to be cut off by the sound of angry, _hungry_ flames.

"We don't have a choice," the young Auror had said flatly as he turned to address the crowd of injured students and refugees. "We can't stay. There's no fighting this, not with so few of us, not with fiendfyre. We can't save anyone left behind – but we can save you. Come with me if you want to live."

And so they set off on foot. Without the ability to Apparate, without brooms, without any sort of magical conveyance, they were reduced to the oldest mode of transportation known to humanity as they sought to escape to the safety of the as yet unburned woods, desperately seeking to get to an area where they could Apparate away.

Along the way, a couple of other Aurors – Dawlish and Shacklebolt – the Minister's personal bodyguard detail – joined them, leading a number of other survivors, their faces pale and drawn.

But Fudge was not with them.

"Professor Sh—Kingsley," Hillard corrected. "It's good to see you." And it was. An additional wand or two would make all the difference here. "But the Minister…"

"Dead," Dawlish supplied, shaking his head. "He was in the stadium, alone when…"

…when a beast of flame – a chimera – had burst from the campground, and had thrown itself onto the stadium, its cursed body eating away at everything it touched and setting it all afire.

At this news, Ron had turned to look back, with Hillard forcing him around towards the forest.

"We…Mum…I have to go back," Ron had said. "Please. We…"

"No, Mister Weasley," Hilllard had intoned. "We can't. The only thing going back would accomplish would be to get you – and us – killed. We make for the forest, so these people with us will live. Just like you, Percy, Ginny, and your father."

"A Gryffindor doesn't…" Ron blustered.

"Don't think of it as running. Think of it as helping to lead these people – your peers – to safety," Hillard said, gesturing at the crowd. "Willingly or not, you're coming with us."

Hillard's words were enough, as Ron nodded and fell into step as the impromptu band made their way as quickly as they dared towards the safety of the woods…

…only to stumble to a panicked halt as three massive forms strode forth from the cover of the trees, swinging uprooted trunks like makeshift clubs.

' _Giants…'_

The most feared and savage creatures in all of Magical Europe, standing over 8 meters tall, and possessed of enormous strength, with their potential for – their insatiable appetite for – violence driving them to kill. Thankfully for those who faced them, giants could not use magic, but that was small consolation when magic was of little use against them.

A single wizard could not hope to best a giant in a confrontation that was even remotely close to being fair. Neither could a handful, or a dozen.

No. To beat a giant and overcome its magic resistance, one would need a full score of highly trained wizards casting simultaneously.

…and they didn't have a score. They had four Aurors.

' _It's like first year with the troll all over again…'_

This time, there was no backup on the way. No boy from a distant land to aid them when they least expected it. No Boy-Who-Lived, ready to put his life on the line.

Just him…and a few Aurors.

That was it.

"Kingsley!" the Stone Cutter barked, brandishing his wand. "You, Dawlish, and I are going to draw off the giants." He glanced over at Tonks, whose hair had turned a pale white as she came up to join them. "Tonks…get these people to safety."

"I can fight!" Tonks had protested, as the giants rushed forward.

"I know you can, but as much as we could use another wand – they need you," Robert said, facing the giants with his wand in his hand. "And I…"

"Robert…"

"Everyone, follow Tonks," Hillard ordered, trying his best to sound absolutely confident. "We'll hold them off. Kingsley, John. _Now!_ "

They _charged_ their red-robed figures tiny against the giants as beams of red and blue and green crackled from their wands – and shattered on the giants' flesh, but caught their attention.

In the background, the refugee column broke into a run, with Tonks leading them away, as the trio of Aurors _attacked,_ launching spell after spell – one at each of the giants, aiming for the throat, the eyes, anything they thought would make a difference, _Reductos_ , _Confringos_ , and more volleying forth.

…but it was all for naught.

With a sickening _crunch_ , Dawlish was smashed into the ground, his torso torn clean through by the force of the blow.

The next moment, Kingsley's head was crushed by a tree trunk, with his body tossed aside brutally.

And Hillard stood alone, raising his wand against his enemies.

" _Expecto Patronum_!"he bellowed, slashing forward with his wand as a silver line of light surged forth, his magical guardian surging forth to batter the giants back and protect him.

It wouldn't be enough to save him, but then it didn't need to be. All he needed to was to buy Tonks some time…

And then he was on the ground, his wand flying out of his hand, every bone in his body shattering with a sickening _crunch_ as a tree trunk slammed into him with terrible force.

He struggled, but it was no use. Too much was broken. Too much…

But just as the giants were about to turn for the woods, the lead giant jerked to a stop, as a trio of jet-black daggers embedded themselves into its throat, with a man clad all in black melting out of the darkness of the night to challenge them.

The lead giant crashed to the ground – with its comrades looking balefully at this sudden new threat – a man who had slain one of their number. " _Fee-fi-fo-fum_ , was it?" he asked coldly, taunting them. "Come at me, if you dare."

' _Lockhart…?'_ Had the Professor somehow come to save him again…? But how…?

With a monstrous roar, they _charged_ , and with a cry of _**"Zabaniya!"**_ the battle was joined.

That was, if one could call it a battle, for it was over in the blink of an eye…with the two giants turning and smashing each other's faces in, with jet black daggers ripping out their throats moments after.

And in the silence, Lockhart – for that was who it had to be – came over to him.

"Professor…" Hillard whispered as the man drew close.

He didn't think anyone would hear him, but Lockhart did somehow, hopping

"Mister Hillard?" the adventurer replied, scrambling over to him, the man's cold eyes looking over him as if seeing through him, only to shake his head.

"Are they safe?" Robert rasped, gagging as blood rose in his throat and dribbled from the mouth. "The survivors…are they…"

"They got away, Mister Hillard," Lockhart said, removing his cowl, as he shook his head. "They got away. Because of you."

"Good," Robert smiled ever so slightly as his body convulsed in a paroxysm of pain, and he found it hard to breathe. "I'm…dying, aren't I?"

"You are," Lockhart answered quietly. He'd seen death too many times not to recognize its signs in another. "Do you have any last requests? Anything you regret?"

"I…I just wish I could have…" Robert gasped, shuddering as his body failed. "Tonks. I…"

He heard a whisper of _Zabaniya,_ and then he was no longer on the field of death. In the last moments before he passed, Robert Hillard believed he was falling asleep, with Tonks by his side after a wedding that had never been.

* * *

That morning, there was an emergency session of the Wizengamot to address what had happened. Every member had been summoned, but only 20 of the 50 had shown up – the others had all perished, it was thought.

It was known that they had been at the finals of the Quidditch World Cup, and that they had reserved campsites at least – but almost everyone at that campsite had died. Reports were still coming in, but British casualties alone amounted to over 6000 people – half of their entire population, with only a handful of survivors, led by Auror Nymphadora Tonks, escaping to safety because of the sacrifice of the other three Aurors who had been at the game.

The Minster of Magic was dead.

Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was dead.

Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, was dead.

The Irish team – the heroes who had just hours earlier, won the Quidditch World Cup – were dead.

The names poured in.

The Longbottom Family. The Abbotts. Susan Bones. Professor Diggory and his son. Professor Pomona Sprout. Pius Thicknesse. The Nott Family. The Crabbes. The Goyles. The Parkinson Family – except Pansy, who was abroad. The Bulstrode family. Alecto and Amycus Carrow. The Macmillan family.

The Weasley family, save for Percy, Ronald, and Ginny.

Narcissa Malfoy. Cho Chang.

Aurors Robert Hillard, Kingsley Shacklebolt, John Dawlish.

And more.

It was reported to the Wizengamot, by Auror Tonks, that an army of giants and werewolves had assaulted the campsite, using fiendfyre to cut off any escape and wreak utter havoc. How they had arrived was unknown, though it was speculated that they had been transported in from another country via Portkey, perhaps in disguise, given that Shrinking Solution could be used to make a giant seem younger, human sized.

That they had come on the night of a full moon, with such overwhelming force – this was no accident. This could only be a premeditated act of war, the work of a government, the only ones who could have allowed such a thing to transpire.

There were whispers that perhaps this was the doing of You-Know-Who, a grieving Lucius Malfoy quashed those with a vengeance. The Dark Lord was dead, slain when his magic rebounded from the Boy-Who-Lived – everyone knew that.

Lucius Malfoy certainly did, for it was at moment he had been set free of the Imperius Curse – or so he had testified.

(In reality, it was that day his Dark Mark had faded, and it had never come back since).

And so there were whispers about what exactly had happened – and who could have done such a thing, with one suspect coming easily to their minds.

 _Bulgaria_.

No one had quite forgotten the World Cup of 1809, after all, or the actions of Romania in that Cup. Nor had the few who had been at the Cup and left before the disaster occurred forgotten that the entire Bulgarian delegation – athletes, Ministerial staff, and visitors all – had left as a group after the final game.

Before the attack had come, leaving the field – and stadium – a charred ruin, and destroying half of Magical Britain's population in one fell swoop.

"Our people are dead. Our Minister is dead. Even our _children_ are dead," Ladon Greengrass spoke, his words finding resonance in every member of the Wizengamot present. He was glad that his daughters had been sick and had not been able to attend the game. Otherwise… "Worse, it is clear that this is only the beginning, for having started down this road, our enemies will not rest until we are dead – _or they are_."

His face had been harsh and cold as he looked at his colleagues, shaking his head.

"The only reason that any survived was due to the sacrifice of our Aurors – what few of them there were – who laid down their lives so that others might live. With this attack, we are now at a state of war with an unknown enemy in Europe, likely Bulgaria. We need to close the border to foreigners – to possible threats to our society."

"That won't be enough!" someone else said.

"Agreed. Thus for the duration of this crisis, I move to suspend at least the operations of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, given how little we will need it," Ladon continued, his eyes cold. "In its place, we need a Department of War, combining Law Enforcement and Control of Magical Creatures under one banner. We need to train Aurors, warriors, fighters who can defend us if – no – when our enemy decides to strike again"

"And where will we get them with so many dead?"

"Do we not have 7th years at Hogwarts who have passed their O.W.L.s and can legally use magic?" Ladon asked. "If so, perhaps we should begin by conscripting them into what is to be the core of our army, under the direction of what surviving Aurors we have."

"Who would head this effort?"

"Our Chief Warlock," the man stated grimly. "Lucius Malfoy has already done remarkable things in his time in power, reforming the Ministry, purging corruption, and dealing with domestic threats. More, he has seen with his own eyes what happens when we let our nation grow weak, seen the consequences of war in a way few have. My lords and ladies of the Wizengamot – he is a veteran of the last war – and who better to lead us on the brink of another?"

"Agreed," another voice spoke up, "I, Albert Runcorn, move that we, the Wizengamot, appoint the Chief Warlock as Minister of Magic, with a grant of special emergency powers for the duration of this crisis."

Every voice in the chamber spoke up in agreement, save for Nymphadora Tonks, who, not being a member of the Wizengamot, was not eligible to vote on the matter.

"My Lords and Ladies," Lucius said, moving to stand before his former peers with his face as hard as stone. "It is with a heavy heart that I accept the responsibility of leading our people through these dark times. As a veteran of the last great wizarding conflict, it was my dearest wish that our nation might be spared the scourge of war, that we might prosper in an age of peace, leading the world by example and showing those who envy us what it means to be great. Yet our enemies have brought war to our very doorstep, have slain our friends, our families, our children in cold blood, seeking to snuff us out because our prosperity offended them."

He met the eyes of each of the people in the room, his gaze intense as he looked at them, ensuring they heard his words.

"They believed that they could crush us. That their act of cowardice and base treachery would bring us to our knees. But I tell you this – they are wrong. We will not falter. We will not fall. This day will live in infamy as the day when we as a people stood up and said ' _No More!_ ' When we showed the world that to fight us, to loose war upon our nation – is death. If Europe believes it can make a mockery of us, of our desire for peace, we will crush them – as Grindelwald crushed them, with only one of our own able to stop him. We will grind our foes under our feet, leaving them with no more than they sought to leave _us,_ and _then,_ my lords and ladies, _then…we shall have peace._ "


	11. Into the Woods

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 11** **.** _Into the Woods_

Silver bolts streaked through the gloomy forest, the cold metallic light of the onmyouji's arrows tearing through a vast cloud of miasma that threatened to engulf the clearing, as the mass of darkness _screamed,_ reeling from the vicious onslaught, only to reform.

"Fred-san! Are you—"

"Never…better," Fred Weasley grunted, sweat running down his brow in concentration as he held his wand before him, desperately pouring his power into a ring of interconnected phantasmal eyeballs that hung in the air all around him, bathed in an eerie crimson glow. That feeble illumination was all that stood between him and utter destruction, given the hungry malevolence he could feel as spears of shadow battered at his barrier, seeking to run him through – no, to devour him. "Fujou – what the hell is this thing?!"

" _Onryō,"_ was all Fujou Shiroe said as his string of his _yumi_ _twanged_ once-twice-thrice in rapid succession, launching three arrows in seemingly random directions, his lips curving into a frown as the tendrils of miasma shifted to allow the arrows passage, with quiet thuds echoing as each bolt found purchase in the trunk of a tree.

' _A powerful one…'_

But that was only to be expected. After all, this was Aokigahara, the Black Sea of Trees, a place that had long been haunted by the spirits of the dead, with the spirits of those that had fallen victim to _ubasute –_ the practice of carrying the elderly or infirm to a remote, desolate place, and leaving them to die, particularly enraged.

All the more so since the forest was like a natural bounded field, a hollow at the foot of Mt Fuji with a powerful spiritual pull, trapping the spirits of those who died – and whose bodies were never retrieved – within its barrier. Unable to escape, unable to seek vengeance against those that had wronged them, unable to pass on and re-enter the cycle of reincarnation, the spirits within turned upon one another, growing more powerful – and more twisted – as they devoured their fellows.

If left unchecked, these _onryō_ would eventually become _tatarigami_ – curse gods capable of bringing forth fire, famine, plague, war, and all manner of calamity.

Onmyouji had risen to power because of the need to suppress and appease these spirits – and so it fell to the heir of the Fujou to go into Aokigahara and prevent any from forming by thinning the population of _onryō_ and helping them pass on.

Through force, if necessary.

"I…can't," Fred gasped, doubling over as the flickering aura of his defense finally went out, with his foe's shadowy tendrils slamming forward, ripping apart the ring of eyes he'd conjured, and surging through the space his head had been but moments before.

' _I…I almost…'_

He'd almost died – would have died – had he not stumbled from exhaustion. And yet, his ordeal was not over, as barbed, wisp-like tendrils of smoke tore into the flesh of his back with the buzzing of a thousand angry bees, and Fred Weasley _screamed._

' _Augh…'_

His body thrashed – or tried to thrash – at the violation, his muscles twitching, jerking, utterly out of control as wisps of darkness dug into him greedily, drinking deeply of his vitality, his power, his _magic_ and memory, as something else molten-hot and painful took their place.

'… _Merlin…I...I should have…'_

" **Kai!"**

Fred barely heard the shout over the buzzing, hardly saw what happened as every single arrow that Fujou Shiroe had shot earlier _changed,_ with dozens of golden chains exploding from their shafts, homing in on the inhuman enemy before them from all directions.

Sensing the threat to its existence, the spirit would have fled, save that it could not, as it was anchored in place by the body it was feeding on – and it would not surrender its prey. So it did the next best thing, with the smoke-like shadows going incorporeal and giving way as the chains passed through them – only to find that as the chains hit, its ability to become incorporeal was sealed, its form becoming dark and solid as the chains hummed an eerie counterpoint to the buzzing of the spirit's power.

The mass of darkness _screeched, shrieked, wailed_ as it convulsed, as the powers used against it sealed the bulk of its powers, leaving trails of golden lightning racing up and down its form.

Desperately, it tried to drain more power, more vitality from the boy trapped beneath it, to take on a form that would let it run away – or at least confuse its assailant – but it could not.

" _ **Guaaaaaaa…"**_

In the background, a chant of nine syllables could be heard, as _ofuda_ surrounded the _onryō,_ with blades of light bursting forth to skewer the bound spirit, whose form _cracked_ apart under the assault, growing brighter, and brighter and brighter, until at last the exorcism was complete, leaving an unconscious Fred Weasley alone in the clearing with the young head of the Fujou.

* * *

Sometime later, as Fujou Shiroe watched his cousin Kohaku tend Fred Weasley's wounds, methodically cutting away the corruption that the foe had left behind, before using her ring of healing to cast a spell of regeneration on the stricken boy, he felt somewhat shaken.

Up until now, all he knew of combat were the training bouts that Kaiduka and his other trainers had challenged him to. This – the clash with the _onryō –_ had been the first time he'd truly seen battle, truly faced a foe that would not relent, no surrender, not stop until it was destroyed – or he was.

…for that matter, if he'd been just a few seconds slower, the Weasley boy, the friend of Matou who had drawn its attention with his barrier made of curses, would be dead, or worse – possessed – with the _onryō_ using the boy of the British practitioner of Witchcraft to escape the forest.

' _It didn't come after me because of my weapon, but he wasn't as fortunate…'_

In the place of a wand or some other implement, Fujou Shiroe was armed with a _hama yumi (_ "evil-destroying bow") _,_ a mystic code in the form of a laminate bow wrought of bamboo, weeping cherry and leather, crafted and empowered by a powerful shrine maiden.

It was quite a proper weapon for the head of one of Japan's most ancient families of magi, as the bow was a weapon held in reverence in Japan. After all, the first Emperor, Jimmu, who had ushered the end of the Age of Gods on his ascension to the throne, was always depicted as carrying two weapons: the legendary _Ame-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi_ (also called the Kusanagi, the holy sword gifted to Amaterasu by the storm god Susanoo), as well as his handcrafted bow.

Like most such _hama yumi,_ Fujou Shiroe's vermillion weapon granted its bearer protection from evil, rendering him immune to possession, enchantment, or mental domination for as long as he was holding it or it was near him. His, however, had a few unique properties. For one, it was attuned specifically to him, and could be summoned to his hand with a word. And for another, it focused and enhanced his _Forge_ abilities, allowing him to create his own anti-spirit projectiles with minimal effort, so that he had no need for a physical quiver of _hama-ya_ ("evil destroying arrows"), so long as his prana held out.

' _I have to remember that just because I cannot be stopped, that doesn't mean that my allies can't be.'_

…and of course, that his ability to sense spirits could be easily confounded in a place like Aokigahara, where traces of countless souls and grudges lingered – much as it did in the park in Fuyuki. In fact, the Sea of Trees had almost overwhelmed him when he first set foot in it, given the many shattered lives and grudges he'd felt within.

To his senses, Mount Fuji glowed like the sun, with the forest icy cold and nearly lifeless.

' _It is a good thing that Kohaku was here. She doesn't seem to be affected much by the forest…'_ he mused, as he watched her work. _'Not that it is ever easy telling how she's truly feeling. And the presence of George-san is distracting, since he shifts between being human…and being a spirit.'_

Shiroe had originally thought of George as a simple practitioner of Witchcraft, like his Twin, but then the first time the other redhead had gone on watch, the head of the Fujou had seen the boy fade from sight, only to appear to his extended senses as a powerful spirit, making him wonder exactly who the two British boys were.

"I'm finished, Shiroe-sama," Kohaku said softly, her words catching his attention as the boy walked over to her.

"How is he, Kohaku-san?" Shiroe asked, shaking his head. "I know he'll live, but…"

…surviving wasn't everything, as he had seen from his sister. It still stunned him that Matou had simply given him the Water of Life without asking for anything in return – and even more so when the elixir did what the other had promised. Overnight, Fujou Kirie's tumors had melted away, to the utter astonishment of her doctors – who were all the more astonished to see healthy tissue growing their place.

His sister was still in the hospital, of course, but that was mostly for her to finish a course of physical therapy, given that she had been bedridden for years, and needed help training her muscles to walk and move again – as well as for the doctors to continue a battery of tests.

When that was done though, Kirie would be released, and would be able to re-enter the world she'd been separated from for many, many years.

' _Of course when that happens, will she be the head of the family, or will I?'_

It was an interesting question. While Shiroe had become the _de facto_ head of the Fujou family due to being the only one able to execute the responsibilities of a head of house, Kirie was certainly more powerful than he was…

' _In the end, it depends what she wants. I think after so long in the hospital, she'll want to explore the world again, with Hisui and Jinan Tokie looking after her.'_

The two had been pulled out of Fuyuki following the incident where the Matou family had been all but destroyed, with the potential risk being judged as too great, though officially, they were being sent to Mifune because of Fujou Kirie's miraculous recovery.

' _Life was…simpler back then.'_

"He should make a full recovery, Shiroe-sama," Kohaku replied, nodding deferentially to her head of house. "There will be some scars, but he will be fine if he rests. If we had been even a little slower though…"

Fujou Shiroe sighed, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Well, at least no one died," the youth said quietly. "Would you go and tell George-san that his brother will be ok? I can sense his agitation from here."

"Mm, as you wish, Shiroe-sama."

Setting down her instruments, Fujou Kohaku donned her sword and her jet black bow as she stepped out of the tent, with Shiroe's eyes following her swaying hips as she walked.

* * *

As Fujou Kohaku stepped out of the tent into the clearing, where a pot of stew was bubbling merrily over a campfire, she felt, more than heard, someone come up beside her.

"Georg-san."

"Kohaku-san," George Weasley's voice came from beside her. "How is he? My brother, I mean."

"He will recover, Georg-san," the redheaded girl replied. "He was very brave to fight for so long, Shiroe-san tells me."

"Well, we're Gryffindors. Bravery is what we do – and what we are," George continued. "Though I never thought there would be anything that horrifying in these woods. Not when it's so…so quiet."

Too quiet, if he was going to be honest. Aside from the occasional crow – and those never stayed long – he hadn't seen or heard any animals here. Nor had he run into anyone else, but then the woods were vast and dark and deep, and they were nowhere near any of the well-worn paths.

"It isn't entirely a natural place, Georg-san," Kohaku noted quietly. "It is a place where the dead walk, and where the spirits have gone mad. You can feel it, can't you, Georg-san? Especially when you're like this."

The invisible youth was silent for a moment.

"…yes," he admitted at last, his voice seemingly coming from the air. "This place…it's a trap for spirits. I've fought a few – less powerful ones – in this form, half-mad and not knowing where they are. It's…disturbing."

"Tell me," Kohaku murmured, as George Weasley took off his ring, stumbling as gravity and other physical forces acted on his body once more. "Georg-san? Are you—"

"I'm fine," George answered, wincing as he waved away an offer for help. "It just feels _different_ , having to walk, and I can't sense nearly as much. Still, it means I can stand next to you without a strange force pushing me away. It comes from…your bow."

"Ah," Kohaku noted, reaching back to touch the ebon bow slung on her back. "My _hama yumi."_

Like her head of house, she had an evil-destroying bow as well, though hers required a quiver of arrows to use for full effectiveness, which the girl didn't like carrying around.

"I have to ask, do any of you use wands?" the Weasley twin wondered. "I don't think I've seen anyone here with one."

"Sometimes we do, Georg-san," the girl replied. "We just have other things we prefer, like _ofuda_. Or your ring."

"Well, it's certainly useful," George admitted, studying the delicate features of the Fujou girl out of the corner of his eye. "Out of curiosity, is there a familiar you are hoping to get at the end of this, Kohaku-san?"

"Hm?"

"That is why you are here, right?"

"No, Georg-san," the redheaded girl answered. "I am here carrying out my duty as a Fujou."

"Your duty, Kohaku-san?"

"To keep the vengeful spirits here from gaining enough power that they become a tatarigami," the girl noted quietly, with George starting as he remembered the last time he'd heard the word TATARI. It had been over three years ago, down in the passageways below Hogwarts, and Sialim Sokaris' boggart had become the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen.

A creature far more than human, even if the monster wore the form of a man with blood red eyes that bled endlessly.

"TATARI…?" George whispered, swallowing.

"Tatarigami," Kohaku repeated, turning to meet the Weasley Twin's gaze. "A 'curse god,' powerful enough to destroy an entire city."

"Sweet Merlin. And you're…?" the boy whispered, his mouth going dry as he found himself staring into amber eyes, suddenly aware of Kohaku's warmth and vitality in the flickering light of the clearing. "You're not afraid…?"

"If I do not, then my sister would have to," the girl responded.

"…sister?" George inquired. "You have a sister?"

"A twin," Kohaku confirmed, looking away. "I would do anything to keep her safe, Georg-san."

"I know you would," George said with uncharacteristic solemnly. "Because I would much to keep my brothers safe too. Whether they are brothers of blood, or brothers-in-arms."

"The Stone Cutters you mentioned."

"Yes."

"You are a good person, Georg-san," the redheaded girl said, her dull grey kimono blending in with the stone of the clearing as she shook her head. "Not like me."

"What do you mean, Koahku-san?" the Weasley Twin asked, somewhat puzzled at her assertion. "Aren't you here, helping to keep calamity from striking the land?"

"I'm just playing a role, Georg-san," Kohaku replied distantly, her figure and form seeming a little troubled. "You shouldn't put so much faith in a pretty girl's smile."

"There are few things more worth protecting in this world," George said wryly, a lopsided smile on his face. Still, one could tell he meant every word of it. The boy shook his head. "Look, to be honest, I don't know much about duty, or what it means to be part of a powerful family, or those sorts of things. But I do know that when I was new to _Mahoutokoro,_ you helped me find my way around, and showed me some of the wonders of the city – wonders I'd never have found on my own. And now you saved my brother's life."

"You give me too much credit, Georg-san."

"And you don't give yourself enough, Kohaku-san."

But the girl only shook her head.

"I wonder if you would still say that if you knew…" she murmured.

"Knew what?" George asked.

But Kohaku did not answer.

* * *

Gilderoy Lockhart shook his head as he looked down at the individual lying unconscious in the one of his safehouses at Minsk, a man he knew only all-too-well.

"We recovered this one from the battlefield, Mentor," a voice said to him deferentially, with Lockhart turning to see a young woman in a simple blouse and trouser ensemble walking up to him. "Given the circumstances in which he were found, I thought you would want to know."

"Circumstances, Rafiq?" the Assassin questioned.

"The remains of a werewolf and a wand user, surrounded by a ring of corpses – other werewolves, and at least one giant," the other noted. "This one we stumbled over. He was wearing a cloak which kept him invisible. As we did not know who he was, we have kept him sedated and unaware of his surroundings for now, pending your instructions."

"I see," the Assassin replied. "Were there any belongings on him, other than a cloak?"

"Two wands, Mentor," the woman answered, handing him a duffel bag. "Those, and his cloak, are in the bag."

"Two wands?" Lockhart echoed, his voice thoughtful. "I wonder if this was the band responsible for some of the hit and run attacks on the weres. Hopefully with any luck, they will assume they succeeded, given the ones they did kill."

"It is a possibility. It was clear that the three had been hunted for some time," the leader of the Minsk bureau noted, shaking his head. "Mentor?"

"Yes, Rafiq?"

"I have heard rumors that the Templars are moving once again," the woman said softly. "Will we soon be called to fight?"

"If it comes to it," Lockhart answered, shaking his head. "Our order wishes for peace in all things, but if the Templars act, then we will have to oppose them. It is one thing to kill one to save many. It is another thing to engineer a war as the Templars often do, tricking thousands into slaughtering one another so they can gain power. "

"Mm."

"The patient is ready for transport, I assume?" the Assassin asked, receiving a nod from his underling. "Good. Then I will return to my apprentice with this man. Given the circumstances in which our guest was…discovered, it may be best for us to question him in somewhat different surroundings, agreed?"

"Your will be done, mentor."

And with that, Lockhart activated a hidden portkey and vanished from the safehouse, only to reappear, together with the unconscious form of Severus Snape, at the ancient fortress of Alamut.


	12. Alamut

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 12** **.** _Alamut_

Slowly, Severus Snape clawed his way towards consciousness, his mind stirring at last after days of slumber only to find that everything felt… _wrong._ When he'd fallen unconscious after whatever Moody had done to hold off their ambushers, he'd been out in the open, on a rocky plain with only the sky above him.

But instead of rocky ground, he was laying on something soft, with the air around him redolent with the scent of something vaguely medicinal mingling with the smell of dry sand. As he assessed whatever else he could without opening his eyes, the Master of Death found that the comforting weight of his robes – and his Cloak of Invisibility – were missing, with the only thing that preserved his modesty being what Muggles called a hospital gown.

' _And…there are no restraints upon me, magical or otherwise.'_

There _was_ a grogginess that only came from induced magically – or chemically – induced sleep, but then, he knew that such things were often necessary to facilitate the treatment of or recovery from severe wounds.

That he _had_ been treated, and was relatively comfortable meant that he had not fallen into the hands of Greyback's army, as those creatures would have either killed him on the spot, or tortured him for information.

' _So where am I?'_

And with that, Severus Snape opened his eyes, blinking as he found himself in a room in a castle of some sort, with someone – Pansy Parkinson, of all people – seated in a chair beside him.

"You're awake, Professor," the young Slytherin noted, with Snape observing that her attire strongly resembled the formal attire of the Stone Cutters. If his former student was here, had he been returned to Britain then? But then, this wasn't St. Mungo's – he'd been to the hospital enough times to be absolutely certain of that much.

' _Dragonhide? Curious…'_

"Miss Parkinson," the man drawled, forcing himself upright with a grunt of effort. There were many things he wished to know, but perhaps the most relevant were… "Where I am?"

The girl's expression could only be described as complicated, the potioneer noted, as she considered what to tell him – what she _could_ tell him. It was a look he knew all too well, given that he'd worn it often enough in the last war.

' _Miss Parkinson has found a master of some sort. But who?'_

"The name means Eagle's Nest, Professor," Pansy said at last, with Snape's lips tightening at her words as something fell into place.

"I see," the Master of Death replied after a moment, looking around at the rather austere room, only to see no one at all – which seemed reassuring, given the abilities conferred upon him by possession of the Deathly Hallows – only that he didn't have any of them on him at present. "I suppose I should be grateful to Gilderoy Lockhart for finding me then. Whatever his motives."

Pansy's eyes widened at her former Head of House's words. How…how had the potioneer figured out that this…fortress was Lockhart's?

"Don't look so surprised, Miss Parkinson," Snape drawled, as the man shook his head. "It was quite obvious, given your association with the Ourea, and the name of this place."

"The name, Professor?" Pansy blinked in confusion. Granted, her work with the Ourea – and with Gilderoy Lockhart – was well known, as she had helped to introduce Capture the Flag to Hogwarts, but she didn't see how one could tie the name of Alamut to Lockhart.

"Your Master—"

"—Mentor—"

"…mentor is known to have an over-inflated flair for the dramatic," the Master of Death observed dryly, shaking his head. "Much like another Ravenclaw we are both… _acquainted_ with. As such, knowing that the symbol of Ravenclaw house is an Eagle, it is a simple enough deduction that a place named the Eagle's Nest belongs to him. Especially since you are here."

"I see," Pansy noted, raising an eyebrow. "Well, you're right that Professor Lockhart is the master of this fortress, though the name far predates his tenure."

"Ah."

His tenure…was it? That implied that Lockhart held high rank in some larger organization…

"Would you like to speak with him directly, Professor?" the girl offered, inclining her head to her former head of house. "For the record, he did ask me to inform him when you awoke."

"…yes, Miss Parkinson, I believe that would be wise."

With that, the Assassin-in-training bowed and took her leave, leaving the Master of Death alone.

* * *

"Severus."

Snape looked up as the imposing figure of Gilderoy Lockhart swept through the door of the room, flanked by the invisible echoes of the many, many lives he'd taken. For almost anyone else, such a sight would have been greatly disconcerting, but the former Potions Master only smiled.

A small, tight smile, to be sure, but it was a smile, nonetheless.

' _Lockhart indeed,'_ he noted silently. ' _And more to the point, it seems that the Resurrection Stone and the Wand have not truly changed hands…'_

If they had, he would not be able to see what Death had termed the "echoes of things past, the ties of action and consequence."

"Lockhart."

The two just looked at one another for a moment, with the master of the fortress studying the guest receiving his hospitality.

"You're likely wondering where your belongings – few as they are – have gone," the Assassin said after a moment. "Worry not, they have been secured in a safe place. After all, it would not do for the Deathly Hallows to fall into just anyone's hands, now would they, Master of Death?"

Despite his training and his usual impassivity, Snape couldn't help but stiffen at the other man's words. Lockhart…knew of the Deathly Hallows? And had recognized them? But that…

' _The foppish man Lockhart appears to be from time to time is likely but a façade. A disguise to hide someone far more dangerous.'_

"…who are you?" Snape let himself ask.

"Why, I'm Gilderoy Lockhart, Britain's greatest adventurer," the Assassin admonished, a conspiratorial smile flitting across his lips. "Didn't you read my staff profile – or any of my books? Quite charming entertainment, if I do say so myself, but then I do love a good tale."

Lockhart chuckled as Snape's expression tightened in displeasure.

"Suffice it to say, Severus, that I am an ally of justice, and that as fantastic and unbelievable as the tales in my books might seem, my life is all the more so."

"…Justice, you say?" Snape repeated. "An interesting word coming from you."

"Oh? How so, Severus?"

"Does the name…Bartemius Crouch Jr mean anything to you?" Snape asked gruffly, observing the cloaked man before him for any unusual reaction.

But Lockhart just raised an eyebrow, as one might expect.

"Interesting that you speak the name of a dead man, Severus. One of your comrades in the last war, no less, before you turned your coat," the Assassin replied casually. "Any particular reason you bring him up?"

"Because you killed him last summer, when he should have been long dead," the former Potions Master said baldly.

"So I did," Lockhart admitted.

"How?"

"I came across him in my travels, and subdued him, before he could do the same to me," the Assassin answered. "As to how he survived, I can only assume that his father smuggled him out of Azkaban, having him trade places with his dying wife. I would further assume his father's death was not of natural causes, but murder at the hands of an escaping son." He'd had some time to think about how the young Death Eater could be alive, and that was the best conclusion he could come up with. "Now answer a question of mine, Severus."

"Yes?"

"How did Dumbledore truly die?"

"It is common knowledge that he died in his sleep," Snape replied, his face utterly impassive. "As you well know."

"Ah, but Severus, I'm not asking about common knowledge, but about the truth," Lockhart stated bluntly. "I know that you were the sole witness to his last hours, and the executor of his will. Just as I know that you must have forcibly taken the Elder Wand from him, else its power would be no more."

"…I doubt you would believe the truth."

"Because it has something to do with how Lord Voldemort escaped dying all those years ago?" the Assassin inquired sharply.

Snape paled as Lockhart hit upon the issue exactly, his expression stricken.

"How did you…?" the spy began, but trailed off as he recognized a cold hardness in the other's eyes. "…you've seen him. The Dark Lord. When?"

"Last summer," Lockhart said simply. "Shortly after eliminating Crouch. Voldemort attempted to possess me. I…resisted."

"You…resisted," Snape repeated incredulously. As far as he knew, only Dumbledore could have hoped to duel evenly against the Dark Lord, but here was Lockhart, claiming to have fought him… "And yet you still live."

"You betrayed his interests and yet you live, so why speak as if is this unusual?" Lockhart inquired solicitously. "In the end, he is only…well, I suppose a wraith is not quite mortal, now is it?"

"You…!" With great force of effort, Severus Snape bit off what he wanted to say, forcing himself into a calmer state of mind. "He lives on then?"

"As something less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost, in his own words," the Assassin confirmed. "Quirrell found him, and was changed by the encounter. But then…you already know that, don't you?"

"…yes," Snape admitted grudgingly, looking away.

"The Philosopher's Stone – why was it at Hogwarts?" Lockhart asked grimly, recalling his conversation with Voldemort's shade.

"The Headmaster suspected that Voldemort had lived on in some fashion, and believed that placing the Stone at Hogwarts would be a way to lure him out so he could be destroyed."

"Only that isn't what happened, is it? And the Dark Wizard nearly escaped with the Stone."

"It was…fortunate that the protection which keeps Potter from being harmed by the Dark Lord remained," Snape admitted. "Otherwise…"

"As it was, one student died."

"None of them should have been there."

"And yet they were. Dumbledore must have known they were likely to do so. Did he encourage them, I wonder? Help fan the flames of an orphan's desire to stop others from suffering?"

Snape could only look away, as he knew the circumstances in which Harry had received the Cloak.

"…I see," Lockhart noted, as that lack of answer was an answer in itself. "And he died seeking out the cause of Lord Voldemort's immortality, I suppose."

"Destroying it," the former Potions Master admitted with a sigh.

"At least at the very end, he was good for something," the Assassin grunted, shaking his head. "Even if it does not begin to make up for the suffering he caused."

"The Headmaster—"

"—did not dare to do what was necessary," Lockhart broke in. "Not in the Grindelwald conflict. Not in the First War. Not when he suspected Voldemort lived. He could have become Minister and led an age of reform if he wished. Instead…now…."

Instead, Dumbledore had demurred, claiming that he wished only to teach, and so Britain had lacked a strong leader in the post-war period.

"…what?" Snape asked.

"Ah, you haven't heard, Severus," the Assassin realized, shaking his head, before his eyes fixed on Snape with a terrible intensity. "Tell me, what were you doing in Eastern Europe, and why were you being hunted by werewolves and giants?"

"An army gathers under Fenrir Greyback," Snape admitted. "We had sought to harry, to delay it, to find out what they intended."

"Ambushing isolated scouts, destroying supply caches, using potions to capture and interrogate enemies?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"We learned of a plot to attack Britain, who Greyback views as responsible for the worst of the persecutions wrought upon his kind," Snape said quietly. "We sought to obtain more information, but we were exposed, despite every possible precaution."

"And then what happened?"

"They pursued us, hunted us, with greater numbers than any of us could face. They blocked our ability to disapparate and came at us over and over, until we could not fight. Until we could not run."

"And then your allies died – and you did not," Lockhart summed up. "If one of you had escaped to warn Britain, then perhaps…"

"…perhaps what?"

"Perhaps thousands would not have died after the Quidditch World Cup," Lockhart said bluntly. "Half of Wizarding Britain's numbers fell in one night."

"Did any…?"

"There were no bodies recovered. Fiendfyre, you see," the Assassin explained. "It is believed a small number of attackers escaped, using the Portkeys made to transport people to and from the Cup. Our new Minister believes Bulgaria responsible, and is consolidating authority under him for the duration of the crisis."

"New Minister?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

Snape seemed to sag at this.

"We failed then," the Master of Death admitted.

"Indeed. And now the task of stopping the army from doing too much damage elsewhere in Europe falls to me."

"...why the Cup? Greyback's fighters must know they could not hope to survive."

"For them, it was never about survival," Lockhart said grimly. "It was about revenge. You know what that feels like, don't you, Severus?"

And he did, for revenge for everything he'd lost was the reason he'd joined the Death Eaters in the first place. He knew of desperation, of hate, of believing a cause was more important than if he lived or died.

"What do you want, Lockhart?" the potioneer asked, sounding thoroughly defeated.

"I would like to request your aid in keeping Europe safe," Gilderoy said solemnly. "You know the ways of stealth, and have been keeping track of this army. I have reason to believe that Fenrir's behavior may be motivated by another party, and of anyone alive, you know the Dark Lord best, don't you?"

"…you want me to work for you."

Perhaps there was a vaguely incredulous tone in his voice. If so, he felt it was justified.

"Your allies are dead. Britain has turned inward and is preparing for war. You are alone," the Assassin noted. "I must be at Hogwarts during the year, monitoring the situation in Britain, and unfortunately, my local agents do not know the tactics of Greyback or his issues with wizardkind as you do."

Snape didn't answer immediately. In fact, he was tempted not to answer at all, save that something was bothering him.

"What are your intentions towards Miss Parkinson?" Snape inquired.

"Mm, a good girl, isn't she?" Lockhart replied, not quite answering the question. "She has a good deal of potential in what I have to teach, at least, and is interested in learning more about the world. Why?

"She is…was…one of my Slytherins," the Master of Death answered, drawing himself into a sitting position with as much dignity as he could muster. "I admit to being…concerned about her being trained by a killer. What are you teaching her, and why?"

"I am teaching her the truth of the world, and how to survive in it, should the lies society is built on come crashing down – as they do often do in war." The Assassin's words left no room for argument. "In any case, you have a few days to decide. If you accept, I will give you the details, along with arranging for an identity for you. If you do not, you will simply be obliviated and returned to the field where you were found."

Snape shook his head.

This…wasn't really a choice at all, was it? Or rather, it was a choice where he had the full freedom to accept the consequences of his choice.

"…tell me then, Lockhart. What is the truth of the world as you see it?"

"Simply that nothing is true. Everything is permitted."

* * *

For Matou Shinji, training with Sajyou Ayaka in the mountains had been quite an ordeal, testing him beyond anything he'd encountered in day to day life. He'd learned to identify and prepare wild herbs and plants, to be silent and listen to the patterns of the world, to survive unexpected ambushes and traps.

And all without a tent, no less, with the boy carrying only some basic supplies and a sleeping bag with him.

' _If I didn't have the Book of Potions, storage would be far more difficult…'_

The book was alive, after all, animated by the soul of an ancient practitioner of witchcraft whose only wish was to guide a worthy student to become the World Potions Champion, and it was willing to do almost everything it could to help. This included essentially storing items in its soul – including potions ingredients, a cauldron, and more.

To him, it was odd that a spirit would linger behind for such a purpose, but then Zygmunt Budge had been odd even in life, growing rather obsessed with proving that he was the best in the world after he had been barred from going to the Potions competition.

Shinji was quite willing to admit that Budge was quite possibly the best potioneer of the western world, though the spirit knew little about Eastern ingredients – and for good reason, he supposed, since Budge had never been to the East. The ghostly potioneer enjoyed working with Ayaka for that reason, since there were new ingredients to learn about and use, new concoctions to be made, new knowledge to experiment with.

' _I wonder what would happen if we combined the knowledge of east and west…?'_ Shinji often wondered. Would something made of the rarest ingredients of both areas of the world be something new? He suppose he'd have to find out – and that he probably needed to be under the influence of _Felix Felicis_ if he hoped to make something viable, since this was something no one had done before. _'I will have another vial as Champion, but I need to be careful when to use it.'_

Still, it had been a productive time, with Sajyou-san actually proving to be decent company when he wasn't annoying her with his incompetence. In a way, he'd found the time away from everything to be quite restful, given that out there, he didn't need to put on a front or pretend to be someone other than who he really was.

He didn't have to be embarrassed if he failed. He didn't have to apologize. He just had to learn – which was something that he, as a Ravenclaw, assuredly didn't mind.

But all good things came to an end eventually, and so he and Sajyou-san had returned to _Mahoutokoro,_ with the Matou boy receiving a summons from the Maiden of the Tree the moment he arrived.

' _What might Matsuo-san wish of me?'_ he wondered, but simply obeyed, heading to her shop – the _Root of the Sky_ , where he had first acquired a wand all those years ago. _'Maybe it has something to do with the project she's been working on?'_

Shinji chuckled. It likely wasn't so – but he could always dream, couldn't he?

He paused with a hand on the door for a moment, steadying himself before he entered, stepping into Matuso-san's sanctum – a store filled with Mystic Codes, _ofuda_ , all manner of thaumaturgical paraphernalia.

"Welcome, Matou," a cheery voice greeted, as Matsuo Hijiri stepped out from behind the counter. As always, she was dressed in the traditional attire of a shrine maiden: a long, red, slightly pleated skirt tied with a bow, a white haori and white ribbons in her hair. "I trust you found your training with Sajyou-san rewarding?"

"I did, thank you," the boy said quietly. "I am…grateful for the opportunity to learn."

"You have done much for the Old Families. Compared to that, this is a small thing."

"Mm."

"Tell me, Matou, do you know why I have called you here?"

"I must confess that I don't," the boy murmured. "But I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"Just so," the shrine maiden said, smiling as another presence made itself known. "Zelkova, bring the item, if you would."

The _kodama_ emerged from the store's back room, carrying a magnificent staff covered with all manner of runes and traceries, capped with silver.

"Master. Matsuo-san," Zelkova greeted solemnly. "I have brought what you requested."

"You have done a great service for the Fujou family," Hijiri intoned, as her red eyes bore into his. "And in doing so, you have lost much. Your name. Your wand. Your family." The maiden smiled, ever so slightly. "I think that deserves a reward, don't you?"

She took the staff from Zelkova and offered it to the Matou boy.

"What is this?" Shinji asked as his hand closed around the wood – and found it warm.

"One of the few masterworks I have crafted," the Maiden related. "A living weapon wrought of your _kodama's_ wood, with a chimera scale core provided by your ally in Atlas."

"Ah…"

"It is rather potent, able to resize itself at your will from a staff thrice as long, to a wand – and can be used to cast spells. And more than that, it is capable of converting fire elemental attacks into raw prana, which then be absorbed by the staff for self-repair or reinforcement, or used to generate a coating of energy around the staff's outer portions, allowing you to deflect spells."

Shinji was struck speechless by this. This…was for him? A gift not only from Matsuo-san, but from Zelkova, and Sion…

He didn't know what to say, didn't begin to know how to respond – so he simply bowed.

"Treat this well, Matou Shinji. You will not receive another."

"Yes!"

* * *

Preoccupied by this, Shinji missed the return of the Fujou party from _Aokigahara_ , with a weary Fred Weasley trailed by a curious _tanuki_ , and Fujou Shiroe by a wolf- _tengu._ Following them were Fujou Kohaku, who had a _nekomata_ perched on her shoulder, and George Weasley seemingly without a familiar at all. The odd thing was, though the boy held himself as if the very weight of the world sat upon his shoulders, he didn't seem disappointed at all. His eyes shone with flecks of gold, and about the corners of his lips flitted a secret smile.


	13. Animagus

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 13** **.** _Animagus_

Harry Potter took a deep breath as he made his way over to the door of his cell, a wan smile playing at the corner of his lips at the thought of what he had accomplished. After a summer spent in complete isolation, away from the petty distractions of the outside world or any human contact whatsoever, he had become an animagus – one of an elite group of wizards capable of transforming into an animal at will, with their ability to do so serving as proof of their mastery of Transfiguration.

At least, such was the case in Wizarding Britain, where animagi were few and far in between, with only exceptional individuals possessing the skill or discipline to become one. Indeed, in all of the 20th Century, Britain had boasted perhaps a dozen such individuals in total, though only seven were generally known to the public, as the rest had chosen not to submit themselves to the Ministry's Animagus Registry (which recorded all known British animagi, what animal they became, and any distinguishing markings).

In other parts of the world, advanced self-transfiguration was rather more common, with the Pacific Islands School, Nu'utea Kohu, teaching a variant which included the use of elemental abilities, and the Uagadou School of Magic having the animagus transformation – and how to use it for reconnaissance, combat, and more – as part of the standard curriculum for fourth year students.

Not that Britain thought particularly well of this, as many British practitioners believed that it was irresponsible to let children anywhere near such an ability, both in terms of the danger to themselves from a botched transformation and the danger to others should an animagus have a particularly large or savage form. These beliefs had only been reinforced after an International Symposium of Animagi where students of Uagadou had put on an exhibition, with _fourth years_ demonstrating the ability to not only turn into elephants and cheetahs at will, but to use their forms with a coordination and finesse that many older European animagi found quite alarming.

Indeed, Adrian Tutley, a gerbil animagus who had served as the head of the British delegation to the Symposium, had lodged a formal complaint against Uagadou for their recklessness, demanding that the International Confederation of Wizards censure their actions – and undertake a review of Uagadou's curriculum to bring it into alignment with the mores and values of civilized society.

…given that Babajide Akingbade, who had succeeded the late Albus Dumbledore as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, was himself a graduate of Uagadou, the complaint had quickly found its way to the circular file, with Tutley's follow-up protests falling on deaf ears.

Each magical nation was a _sovereign_ nation, after all, with the right to define the curriculum in their schools, set their own laws – so long as they did not violate any international treaties they were signatory to. Accordingly, the role of the ICW was more to advise and recommend than to govern, to provide a forum for cooperation and conversation while respecting the needs and differences of its member nations, though it did sometimes appoint International Task Forces to assist in the enforcement of the Statute of Secrecy when an evolving situation did not fall under the jurisdiction of any one nation – or occurred in contested territory, with more than one nation having a claim.

It certainly did not interfere with the internal affairs of its member nations, unless they were in flagrant violation of the Statute, or their wizarding governments had utterly collapsed, with no successor state or entity designated – something which had not happened for a very long time. More than a political or military power, the ICW was a moral authority, whose decisions were respected, but not binding, with enforcement left up to the individual member nations – an arrangement that its member states preferred.

After all, while giving the ICW enough power to compel magical nations to obedience and intervene against offenders directly might have been useful in nipping something like the Grindelwald Conflict in the bud, so that the Dark Wizard could not simply divide his foes and subdue them one by one, it also meant that the Supreme Mugwump would hold more power any Head of State – and no nation would abide that.

Not when many were familiar enough with the scourge of war, and knew well how tools meant to prevent conflict might instead be used to precipitate it, with the ICW's peacekeeping instruments used to conquer and oppress.

As a collection of societies in hiding, Magical Europe, the place where the ICW had been founded, would not countenance the thought of a single organization capable of crushing them all – not when the specter of persecution by a terrible enemy against who there could be no resistance lingered on in their racial memories.

But the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't thinking about any of this as he unlocked the door of his cell and stepped out into the brilliant morning light, feeling the warmth of the sun upon his face for the first time in months, hearing the voices of others in conversation as they strolled along in the distance, smelling the rich scents of meals being prepared by street vendors in advance of the morning rush.

' _It's…beautiful…'_

The language was unfamiliar to him, as were the people, the rituals, the foods, and the customs, but even so, on a primal level, he recognized them as people like him. Practitioners of witchcraft (to use the cumbersome term his best friend insisted on), who lived in a world all their own, yet were human enough to enjoy life's simple pleasures.

' _I'm not sure I've ever really appreciated the simple joy of being alive, really…'_

With everything that weighed upon him back in Britain, since his first year at Hogwarts, when he'd learned that not only was he a child of prophecy – but that said prophecy was the reason he was an orphan. If he had been an ordinary child, Voldemort wouldn't have come after him, after all, nor would his parents have died trying to protect him.

If he had been an ordinary child…

Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. He supposed that was why he had wanted to come back to Japan after the weariness of his year at school, because here he wasn't a celebrity, or a Stone Cutter, or the Boy-Who-Lived. Here, he was just Harry Potter, a visitor from the west in a city full of strangers, with his actions – and choices – entirely his own.

' _It's odd. If I was Hogwarts' Potions Champion, I wouldn't have this freedom. All of Britain would be looking to me to bring them victory, and I would have given everything to meet their expectations – to become the hero they wish me to be.'_

Only he wasn't Hogwarts' Potions Champion – he was only the Champion's Second, since Matou had beaten him last year.

Truth be told, the Boy-Who-Lived had been angry about his loss, given how hard he'd worked to become Champion, what with joining the Potions Bootcamp, getting extra tutoring from Professor Snape, even working with the _Book of Potions_ to refine his mastery of the art of brewing, only for his friend – with the help and advice of his fellow Stone Cutters – to snatch away the title and position he'd wanted for himself through base trickery.

Given what Harry had seen his friend do, he knew there was no need for the Boy from the East to use such underhanded tactics to win – and frankly, he wouldn't have begrudged Matou his victory if the other boy had just brewed a better potion, or had bested him in a fair fight – but the Japanese boy had done so anyway.

…and then Shinji had turned around and chosen him as his Second, meaning that Harry would have to follow his friend to Japan, away from everything he knew.

But this journey had been very different from the one he'd taken after first year, where a goal and course of training had been laid out for him. That summer, Tomas, a descendent of the Peverells, had instructed him in the basics of both Occlumency and the Dark Arts…but more than that, the elder wizard had given him an idea of just how far he had to go before facing down his nemesis.

After all, if Tomas, who was far more skilled and powerful than he, had himself been defeated by Lord Voldemort, then Harry couldn't hope to match the Dark Lord. Not yet, anyway. Not without some kind of edge that would help him not just survive, but counter whatever his foe might do.

'… _becoming an animagus was the right thing to do where the Stone Cutters are concerned, but against Voldemort…?'_

Frankly, he'd thought that perhaps a mastery of potions was the right way to go, given that he was competent enough at it, and that surely an art that would let him bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death, might be helpful, but since being bested, Harry had come to realize that such would not be enough. After all, as Matou had demonstrated, his enemy was unlikely to give him time to brew something powerful (and many potions had a limited shelf-life anyway).

'… _in a way, being Second is a good thing.'_

It gave him most of the privileges of being a Champion – such as freedom from classes, advanced training in Potions, and free access back to Hogwarts from Durmstrang – without the responsibilities, which meant that he would have all the time he wanted to hone his skills, and all the peace and quiet he could desire.

' _Maybe I'll even get to spend more time with Daphne…'_

Being with the girl he loved was one of the few pure, uncomplicated joys in his life, given all the burdens that came with being Harry Potter, Order of Merlin (First Class), Stone Cutter, Heir of Slytherin, Boy-Who-Lived. Indeed, in choosing to try for the positon of Champion, he'd resigned himself to only spending even less time with Daphne, given the intense training that would be necessary if he were to compete on the international stage – but it seemed life had other plans.

…while it was true that he hadn't been able to see his girlfriend at all this summer, Harry had been given something nearly as precious: time to think, to reflect, to make peace with himself and who he sought to be. And in the process, he had awakened a power slumbering inside him, discovering the animal that represented his inner self – a creature storied as fierce and wild and strong, loyal to its allies and merciless to its foes.

One well-adapted to the cold of Durmstrang, no less.

' _I wonder what the others will think of it…'_

It was rare enough for someone to become an animagus in Britain, after all, though he knew that the creators of the Marauder's Map – his father and friends – had been animagi themselves, and that the Weasley Twins had the utmost respect for at least two of them (Prongs and Moony, since Padfoot – Sirius Black – had not exactly made himself any friends at Hogwarts, and Wormtail, well…), so he rather thought they'd be impressed by his achievement.

Matou on the other hand, was much harder to read, as his abilities were quite…varied. The Japanese boy excelled at Charms and Ancient Runes, having received private tutoring from Flitwick in the former, and skipping a year in the latter, though not with Arithmancy and Transfiguration, with those known as areas in which Shinji had shown a good bit of frustration.

And of course, the Boy from the East had access to the arcane abilities of the east, like ofuda and _fusion,_ one of which Harry could use…and one which he could not.

' _I think…he'd enjoy seeing my animagus form, though I don't know if he'll recognize the significance of it.'_

Having come to forgive his friend for the underhanded way in which Matou had snatched the Championship from him, he found himself quite curious about what his worldlier comrade would think about the form he had obtained.

' _Well, why wonder? I'll go and show them.'_

* * *

Sometime later, the Stone Cutters were gathered in an empty meeting room at the _Mahoutokoro_ School of Magic, with Fred being trailed by a creature Harry recognized as a _tanuki_ – one of the mischief loving raccoon dogs well known in Japanese lore, Shinji leaning against the wall, his face somewhat leaner – and certainly more tanned, as he twirled a wand between his fingers, regarding the _tanuki_ warily, and George seeming quite composed as he took in his surroundings, regarding the others with eyes flecked with gold as he toyed with a ring.

"It's good to see you – all of you," Harry commented, his lips tugging up into a smile at the sight of his comrades in arms.

"You as well, Harrikins," Fred replied, though there was a stiffness to his voice, as if he was trying his best to keep something from showing. "It's been a long time."

"Too long," George added, shaking his head and sighing. "We were beginning to wonder if you would ever come back from your journey of self-discovery."

"…well, that's one way to put how I've been spending the past few months," Harry said slowly, glancing over at Matou, who simply nodded in greeting. "You went and got familiars, I see?"

"Mm," Fred acknowledged, gesturing at the _tanuki_ beside him with a lopsided smile. "Had a bit of a rough time of it, but I got Maeve here for my troubles in the end."

"You never did mention just how you managed that, brother of mine," George noted, running his fingers over his ring, as the _tanuki_ shifted its gaze to its master's twin, seeming almost…wary.

Fred just chuckled, perhaps a bit ruefully.

"And I don't think I will, brother of mine. Some things are best left a secret, after all," the other Twin commented.

"Oh come now, brother of mine," George quipped, raising an eyebrow. "I know that after our journey to the Aokigahara – which, by the way, Matou, was no joke – we stopped over at Lake _Tanuki_ , but…"

"…I don't really want to talk about it," Fred said flatly, his smile fading. "I wasn't feeling well, and I think I was seeing things that night. There's no reason that Kohaku would…"

"…would what?" George inquired, an edge creeping into his voice as he regarded his brother more intently. "Did something happen that I should know about?"

But Fred shook his head.

"I thought I might have seen her dancing on the surface of the lake that night, under the full moon, but that's impossible, since I heard her…talking with you," the Twin said reluctantly. "And when I took a second look, she was gone anyway. I made a circuit of the lake without seeing anyone, except that Maeve was sitting by the fire when I got back to the campsite."

"Oh?" Shinji noted. "You didn't happen to have the ingredients for s'mores or something, did you?"

"…s'mores?" Fred echoed, raising an eyebrow at the strange word.

"A campfire treat made of marshmallows and chocolate sandwiched between two graham crackers," the Matou boy explained. "From America, supposedly."

"Mm, didn't know that," Fred grunted. "I had marshmallows, which Maeve seemed to enjoy. She seemed hungry and friendly enough, so I fed her. Of course, then she bit my finger."

"…binding the familiar link in blood," Shinji commented.

"…that's what Shiroe said too," Fred said, looking away. "I just feel a little bad, since this happened by accident, and I didn't actually do anything too heroic during the journey. Still, at least I got something, eh, George?"

For the briefest of instants, Shinji caught a flicker of a smile play about the other Twin's lips, which together with the gold in George's eyes made him very suspicious indeed.

"Right you are, brother of mine," George said easily enough, as he turned back to Harry. "Anyway, Harrikins, what is it you have to show us?"

Thinking that it was better to show them, rather than tell, Harry transformed before their eyes, his form shrinking and changing shape into a noble, powerful creature of the tundra.

An arctic wolf with piercing green eyes.

"No…" Fred whispered, his face paling as he took a step back.

The white wolf before them bared its teeth in a mock smile as it raised its head to the sky and an eerie, haunting wail issued from its throat.

Having spent the summer in isolation from other humans, and most certainly, the concerns of the greater world, Harry had no idea of what had happened in Britain. He didn't know – couldn't have known – that Magical Britain had been brought to its knees by a combined force of werewolves and giants that had wiped out over half of its population, that the Weasley family had lost about half their number – with Molly, Bill, and Charlie dead and Arthur in a coma from which he had not yet awakened, that werewolves were now a special target of hate and loathing.

…or that while Animagi and werewolves were quite different, and that the Twins _knew_ this, that said knowledge would seem meaningless in the face of a fearsome predator bearing the same form as the beasts that had slaughtered their family.

"No…!" Fred shouted, his wand coming out as Harry reverted to his human form, the smile on his face dying at the sight of his friend's distress.

"Fred…?" Harry asked, taking a step forward, only to blink as he found the point of Weasley boy's wand aimed right for his chest.

"Don't come any closer," Fred said, his eyes never leaving Harry's as he backed slowly over to the door and pulled it open. "Come on, Maeve, we're leaving. I can't…I can't stay here. Not..."

And then he was gone, with the _tanuki_ gave those in the room something of an apologetic shrug and following her master out the door.

"…what was that about?" Harry asked, bewildered by Fred's reaction. He thought the Weasleys would have been the first to congratulate him on his form, but instead…

"You didn't check your mail before coming here, did you?" Shinji replied, a question for a question.

"No, but…"

The Boy-Who-Lived couldn't think of _anything_ that would explain what happened with Fred. Unless…maybe a werewolf had attacked someone in the Weasley family? But then why would _he_ have been informed about it.

"Britain was attacked following the finals of the Quidditch World Cup," the _onmyouji_ said quietly, breaking the news as gently as he could. "By a force of werewolves and giants."

Harry froze, his blood running cold in his veins.

"What."

"That's about the long and the short of it," George confirmed, shaking his head. "Over six thousand dead from Britain alone. Including the Minister and…"

"…and?" Harry echoed, almost afraid to know. But he needed to. It was his responsibility to know the names of those he hadn't been there for, after all. That's what being a hero meant – at least, to him.

"Hillard's gone too," Shinji added, with his hands stilling as he looked off into the corner of the room. "By all accounts, he died a hero, buying time for a column of refugees to get away."

"…he never did change, did he?" George chuckled ruefully, with the others looking at him oddly. "I just remembered fighting the troll in first year. He tried to get us to go to safety, while he held it off…"

"Yeah…," Harry whispered. "He's…gone?"

"I wish he weren't. But he is," Shinji confirmed.

"Ah." The Boy-Who-Lived couldn't think of a way to ask what he wanted, without sounding utterly tactless, but—

"In case you're wondering though, Daphne is fine," the onmyouji continued, shaking his head as Harry's shoulders sagged in rather obvious relief. "I thought you'd want to know."

"Harry…," George interrupted, his voice soft, but firm. "Why don't you go off and take a look at the package that came in for you? It will probably answer your questions better than we can, alright?"

"...thanks. Sorry, I—"

"Don't be," the Twin said roughly. "You can't be blamed for what you didn't know. Congratulations on becoming an Animagus, Harry. At least you're immune to the bite of a werewolf now, so that's something."

With a nod, Harry took his leave, quite troubled by what he had just learned, and where there were once four Stone Cutters, only George Weasley and Matou Shinji remained, both of them silent for some time.

"You know, I never realized just what you went through last summer," the older boy said after a time. "Not until I went off on a journey of my own. I have to say though, Aokigahara wasn't anything like I expected. This summer hasn't been at all, really."

"There is that quote about adventure being someone else having a miserable time," Shinji commented wryly. "I don't think it's entirely inappropriate for this situation."

"Mm," George acknowledged. "Sometimes I find myself wondering what all will go into Lockhart's biographies about us. What people will end up remembering about us – and what they won't. You have any idea, Matou? You work more closely with him than the rest of us."

Shinji only shrugged.

"Not on those sort of things," he responded. "Not yet anyway. My best guess is that the biographies might end up being like his travelogues—"

"—exaggerated, then?"

"—but I can't be sure until they're actually written," the boy finished, raising an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Hillard," was all that George said – and in truth, all that he needed to say, as Shinji understood completely.

"We've escaped death a few times, haven't we?" the _onmyouji_ in training murmured quietly. "Sokaris aside, that is. And now Robert. Makes you wonder if one of us is next, doesn't it?"

To Shinji, the knowledge that he was only mortal was something he lived with every day of his life. After all, to be a magus was to walk with death, and though he himself was _not_ a magus, both Aozaki Touko, who had been his mentor, and Sion Eltnam Atlasia, his idol and closest friend, _were._ And on top of that, the magus mindset was one he'd embraced growing up as a Matou, even if he was no longer of that family…

"When Sokaris died – it was difficult, but there was nothing we could have done, since Quirrell got us first. Now though, with Hillard…I wonder what would have happened if Fred and I had gone to the World Cup instead of coming here? Would he still be alive? Would Charlie? Bill? Mum? Would it have even made a difference what I did?" George shook his head. "I think I understand Harry better now."

"I do too, frankly," Shinji admitted, earning himself an odd look from his fellow Stone Cutter. "Don't worry about it, just…family business."

"Family…?"

"We're not talking about this," the boy from the east intoned, his utterance cold and unyielding as stone.

"…right then. So what did you want to talk about?"

"How about your familiar?" Shinji inquired solicitously, the corners of his lips tugging upwards ever so slightly as his friend started in surprise. "I didn't mention this while the others were here, since I thought you were going to talk about it yourself, but it's fairly obvious to me that you have a spirit's power flowing through you."

"Huh. You've always been a perceptive one, Matou," George mused aloud, as a crimson orb – no, a blood red eye – materialized over his heart, with thin tendrils of red emerging from it and running to his head and wrists. "I suppose you know what this is, then."

".. _.satori_ ," Matou Shinji said in a hush, raising an eyebrow as he noted what the other had just revealed. "A _youkai_ infamous for its ability to read minds and see through illusions, though it is not known to possess any great combat capability of its own, aside from its ability to copy patterns from the minds it reads."

"That's what I'm here for," the Weasley boy noted with a bow.

"So you provide the skill and power and it provides you with the knowledge you need to use what you have most effectively?" Shinji inquired. "Useful."

"It is, yes," George commented in a somewhat detached tone. "Especially since…" The boy trailed off, his eyebrows furrowing together after a moment. "...I didn't know you were an Occlumens, Matou. Is that part of the standard curriculum here?"

"…tried to read my mind, did you?" the onmyouji asked dryly, thankful that he'd kept up his mental defenses. For while language barriers could serve as an additional line of defense, it wasn't ever something he wanted to rely on for his primary protection – especially not when he was up against someone who might be able to eventually command the power of a fallen Japanese mountain spirit. "A dangerous thing, that. You never know what secrets you might discover, after all." Shinji paused for a moment. "As for whether or not it's part of the standard curriculum, I can't really comment. One of my teachers simply thought it would be useful for me."

"Oh? You never told us about this, wee little Matou!"

"You never asked," Shinji said dryly. Then his face grew serious. "Of course, when you say you were trying to read my mind, I don't think you were really pushing for anything deep, were you?"

"...well, no. That would be impolite."

"Just a bit," the Japanese boy noted. "And much more easily noticed by an Occlumens."

"Would it, now?" George wondered aloud. "I should be able to do without anything more, I think, especially given what other abilities my familiar confers upon me. Mm, with everything that's happened, I think I will strive to become Hogwarts' Champion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. After all, such an event would be an interesting way to test my capacity…"

Shinji's smile froze as he recalled who else had said words like that to him lately: Tsuchimikado Houkto. He had yet to face the granddaughter of the chairman of the Japanese Council of Magic, but frankly, she seemed like she would be quite a terrifying foe.

Not as terrifying as TATARI, though.

"...test your capacity, huh?" Shinji echoed.

"Fred nearly died in Aokigahara." George's voice was solemn as he spoke. "Hillard – Robert – died protecting people at the Cup. And people have died in the Tri-Wizard Tournament before. I think…I think that I don't want any more blood on my hands, that I should step up and use the power I have obtained to make sure no one who isn't ready is forced to compete."

"I don't think that will be an issue, frankly," Shinji remarked. "I'm fairly certain the selection process will pick the most qualified individual, so you shouldn't need to worry."

"And would you know what that process is?" George inquired. "Or how it determines a qualified individual?"

"Not off the top of my head," the Japanese boy admitted. "Though I suspect it is probably a magical artifact of some kind to prevent even the appearance of favoritism."

In that, he was correct, for the Goblet of Fire, the "impartial judge" that chose the three Champions was a magical artifact that examined the prana signatures of Champion candidates, examining them for two essential qualities: which school a student was affiliated with, and the quality of his or her prana (unformed traces of which could be found when they wrote their names onto paper with the _intent_ of competing).

From each school, it would then choose a candidate whose prana indicated the greatest potential in terms of magical strength and control, and bind them to compete in the tournament, acting on them through the prana in the paper.

This ensured that the most common methods of chicanery were defeated, as an adult wizard (say, a headmaster) who wanted to give a student an edge by having the Goblet analyze _their_ prana instead would then be bound to compete – or else have their magic sealed away completely when they did not show for a task, their fraud revealed to the world.

On the other hand, if one had access to a piece of paper on which a student had written his or her name (say, for a classroom assignment or a note), and was adept at using the _Confundus_ Charm, then one could theoretically trick the Goblet into believing that a submission was from a _fourth_ school, meaning that the entrant would be chosen as a Fourth Champion, but such had never happened in the history of the Tournament.

"You're probably right about that," George allowed. "It's just that after everything that's happened, I don't want Fred to be even more at risk. Not when I think he'd probably do something reckless if Viktor Krum were the Champion."

"…ah. You think he might believe what they say, that Bulgaria was behind it?"

"Now _that_ , I don't know."

The two were silent for some time as the _satori_ linked with George faded into invisibility once more.

"There's only a few more days before you have to go back," Shinji said after a while. "Figured out what you're doing?"

"' _You?'"_ George echoed. "Don't you mean we?"

"…I'm afraid not," Shinji affirmed, somewhat sourly. "When you go back to Britain, I won't be going with you. Not until Halloween, anyway."

"Oh?"

"I think you forget sometimes that I'm not a British Citizen," the onmyouji shrugged. "And in the wake of what happened at the Cup, the Ministry has been cracking down on foreigners, effectively closing its borders."

George looked aghast.

"But you're the Potions Champion for Hogwarts!" the Weasley Twin exclaimed. "The one who will be representing Britain at the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship. Wouldn't they make an exception for you, of all people?"

Shinji's expression was positively wintry.

"They offered me British citizenship," he admitted. "But I said no."

"You said…" George echoed, incredulously. "…why?"

"I'm a citizen of Japan," the _onmyouji_ explained, shaking his head. "And Japan does not allow dual citizenship."

"…oh."

"Yeah. If I become a British citizen, I'll lose far more than I stand to gain…"

Among other things, he would certainly lose his special privileges of being allowed to have guests, or to have a vanishing cabinet connection between his manor in London and the City Beneath the Earth. Everything that he'd gained, the favor he'd curried with the Fujou, with Hijiri, with Kaiduka…it would probably disappear if he turned his back on Japan.

"What about your house?" George asked quietly. "Isn't it registered with the Ministry? If you can't stay in Britain, can't they seize it?"

"I'd like to see them try," Shinji snorted, recalling the defenses he'd paid for Aozaki Touko to erect. "…at least, I'd like to say that. Being more practical though, I think I'll prepare a letter for one of you to take to the Ministry."

"Oh?"

"I intend to add you, Harry, Fred, and Luna to the deed," the boy from the east explained. "I know you lost your house last year, and while my manor isn't a replacement, you're my comrades in arms. If I can trust anyone with the use of the house, it's all of you. Plus, they won't confiscate it from all of you, right?"

"Hm, a fair point. On the question of what I'll do in the few days before I go back, I don't really know," George noted. "I'd like to test out what I can do now that I have a familiar, but I'm unsure of how to go about that. What do you think, Matou? Up for a spar?"

"We'll see."

* * *

Later that day, Shinji found Harry in the bespectacled boy's room, with the Boy-Who-Lived looking like he'd aged a hundred years in a day when he answered the door.

"You look like hell, Harry."

"Which is about how I feel," the Heir of Slytherin remarked, casting a despair-filled look at a desk piled high with papers as he invited his friend in. "I missed a lot while I was in my cell, I guess."

"So you read the details, then?"

"Yeah, I did," Harry said heavily, all but collapsing into his chair. "And it get worse."

"…worse?"

"Minister Malfoy—"

"Minister _Malfoy?!"_

"—wants to appoint me British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot," Harry concluded. "Basically, I'd be representing the wizarding youth of Britain in legislative affairs. And serving as the Ministry's special representative."

"Meaning what exactly…?"

"…that they think more people will sign up for the army they're making if one of their heroes is the one to recruit them. That if I – the Boy-Who-Lived – am willing to stand up and declare my support for the Ministry's cause, others will fall in line."

The sheet bitterness in Harry's voice floored Shinji, as did the content of what his friend was saying.

"An army," Shinji repeated. "Do you think…do you think there will _actually_ be a war?"

"I don't know, which is what scares me," Harry muttered. "I know – you know – _we_ know what war means." After all, his earliest memory was the death of his parents and that terrible green light. "Everyone else though? They think I'll keep them safe – that they'll be saved. They don't know the cost, don't think about how many people will die if they push through and declare war. Fighting just isn't something most wizards know how to do – or want to do, for that matter. They just want to live long and happy lives, leaving the fighting to the Aurors and the Hit-Wizards fight. Even in the last war, most people didn't end up fighting. It was mostly the Death Eaters against the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry. And now? Most people can't even cast a bloody shield charm."

"Can't blame them, really," Shinji supplied, shaking his head. "Britain as it is now, has few enemies. Sure, you know and I know that Voldemort is alive, but to most people, he's long dead."

 _'Except for the little fragment that exists as Tomas, and whatever else might remain...'_

Harry was silent for a time, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft and brittle.

"It would be nice to think people were wholly good or wholly evil," Harry continued, looking at his hands as if he could already see something terrible coming, as if they were already covered in blood. "But they're not. They're more complicated than that. They always are. And while I don't mind fighting for what's right, I...I don't want war. Not on that scale."

"Hard to blame you."

"Worse, recruiting people to fight and join the army? To fight Bulgaria, instead of trying to find and take down this army because 'obviously werewolves and giants wouldn't be able to coordinate like this without a wizard at their head?' I don't even know where to begin, except that I'm tired of people dying."

"Mm. You haven't changed," Shinji said quietly.

"I guess I haven't," Harry admitted. "I don't want a single person more to die because of me, to be tricked into doing something they don't want to because they think I can protect them – when I can't." The Boy-Who-Lived shook his head. "If I accept this position, then the deaths of anyone who signs up because of me…the deaths they might end up causing, all of that will be my responsibility."

"And what if you said no?"

"If I say no, then people will lose faith, both in me and their chances of surviving. They'll think the Boy-Who-Lived has abandoned them, has turned his back on Britain in the time of her greatest need, with so many dead. They need someone to look to - someone they can trust - someone they can believe in. Someone who can convince them that things will be alright, and that they will get through this. Somehow. I can't…I can't take that away from them."

Shinji shook his head, the sheer emotion in Harry's voice difficult to deal with.

There were a lot of things he could say, but somehow, most of them didn't really seem appropriate – not when he and Harry were around the same age, and he'd never been in his friend's position before.

"Harry," the boy from the east said, as he stepped forward and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. Harry flinched from the contact at first, but forced himself to relax – after months of isolation, he wasn't used to being touched. "When you get back, talk to Lockhart."

"Lockhart?" Harry echoed. "Why?"

"Because I'm pretty sure he's seen war," Shinji related, thinking that a high-ranking Assassin should know something about this topic. "And he probably understands better than I do."

"I see."

"Also, you should probably register yourself as an animagus," the Matou boy continued. "With things going on, you don't want an Auror – or anyone else, really – attacking you if they see you in wolf form."

"…noted. But won't people be disturbed by the fact that my animagus form is that of a wolf?"

"It's well known that no one chooses their animagus form," Shinji replied smoothly. "And well, I doubt they'd say anything too bad about the Boy-Who-Lived."

"At least not for now, I suppose," Harry conceded, his lips drawing into a thin smile. "I guess even without the Potions Competition, I'll still have something filling up my time, huh?"

"Seems that way, doesn't it?" Shinji chuckled. "Every year, there's something. You figure out what you'll actually be studying, aside from Potions?"

"I was thinking about Transfiguration and Defense," Harry related, "though I do want to find out more about self-transfiguration and what I can do as an animagus."

"Well, if Professor Flitwick is going to Durmstrang as one of the judges of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, that means Professor McGonagall will have to be acting Headmistress," Shinji noted. "And if that's so, then a focus in Transfiguration might be a bad idea."

"…you could be right about that," Harry admitted. "Maybe just Defense and exploring my animagus abilities then. That way, I can pick the brains of whatever Auror is being assigned to Hogwarts this time, or maybe one of the Dark Arts teachers of Durmstrang."

"Might be a good idea."

"What about you? Do you know what you're studying, oh great Champion of Hogwarts?"

"Well…I'll be working with Lockhart, since he _is_ a great adventurer," Shinji said quietly. That, and he figured that with things as they are, he might as well show the man the hidden blade he'd acquired from Zouken and get what knowledge he could from the man. With his other obligations, Lockhart couldn't just conscript him, and it wasn't as if he could owe the man more than a life-debt already implied. "And I'll be honing my skill in the Eastern Arts."

"You're going to give whoever faces you on that island a bit of a nasty surprise, eh?"

"Not sure I'd put it that way." The _onmyouji_ shook his head. "The other champions are not only older than we are, and more experienced. They're kind of terrifying."

"Even _Mahoutokoro's_ champion?"

"Especially her. I traveled with her last year on my quest to obtain a familiar. I've seen how powerful she is."

"Stronger than Lovegood?"

"…much," Shinji admitted. "She'd probably beat both of us, even if we both used fusion."

"…and that's the kind of company I almost ended up keeping?" Harry asked. Unexpectedly, Harry began to laugh, a merry sound that echoed on and on and on for minutes on end. "That's…well, I know you'll survive, Matou, but Merlin…that's…"

"Yeah, I didn't expect that either," Shinji grunted. "Still, what's done is done."

"Tell me, Matou, do you still think you can win?"

"…I know I can." Shinji's confident declaration caught Harry off guard, given that his friend had just spoken about what monsters the other champions were. "Anyone can win, Harry, if their heart is in the right place, and luck is on their side."

"And will you?"

"Now _that_ I won't know until the day of. Even with all my training, and what I'm striving for, it's hard to ever guarantee luck will be on my side. Especially when most people will have a vial of Felix ready to imbibe."

"Mm." Harry made a sound of acknowledgement. "You know, Matou, all things considered, I don't actually envy you right now."

"Oh, I've never envied me. Why envy yourself, after all?"

Harry snorted.

"You going to be working with Lovegood again this year?"

"Yeah."

"And are you going to tell me where you two get off to in the mornings, where you find the room to spar in fusion form, or the like?"

Shinji smiled thinly at that.

"Now _that,_ Harry, is what you would call a secret."


	14. The Apple of Eden

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 14** **.** _The Apple of Eden_

"Heart rate, 60 beats per minute. Respirations, 8, full and even. Blood pressure 95/60. Capillary refill under 2 seconds. Skin pink, but cool to the touch. Patient unresponsive. Pupils equal, reactive to light, accommodating. No change from baseline."

As he finished his assessment and dutifully jotted down his patient's vitals onto the chart at the foot of the comatose man's bed before heading out into the hallway, Draco Malfoy, one of the orderlies at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, wondered how it had all come to this. Not how he had come to work here, of course, though it was rare that a scion of the Malfoy family, born to wealth and privilege, would ever lower himself to menial work, but how such disaster had been visited upon Britain, when all had seemed to be going so well.

His current state of employment was easy enough to explain: his father, the man who had risen to become Minister of Magic, was disappointed in him – as well he should be. Leaving the Ourea as he had done by refusing to take part in Lockhart's _Kobayashi Maru_ had been a very rash decision, fueled more by pain than anything logical. Indeed, he'd known almost immediately afterwards how badly he'd blundered in throwing away his position, though his ego would not let him beg to be allowed back into the organization.

How could it, when doing so would be an admission to himself – and all the other members, including Matou – that he had been wrong to do as he'd done? When by the very bylaws he had helped approve, he couldn't simply plead his case before Matou and whoever his co-leader was now (probably Ginevra Weasley, now that Longbottom was dead), but would have to go before the organization as a whole? When there was the very real possibility that they would refuse his request and throw his desperation in his face, given that he, like the rest of them, had been warned about the consequences of refusal, and that he had made his share of enemies among them?

None of _them_ had refused the call – not even Ronald Weasley, who Draco thought was a hothead full of vainglory, whose skills were much less impressive than he believed. Which was why the Slytherin hadn't believed for an instant that the coward had actually fought Sirius Black – or that if he had, Black must have wanted him to live. For if there was one thing Draco Malfoy knew, it was that the claim of a mere schoolboy successfully fighting off a powerful Dark Wizard – or any adult wizard, for that matter – was a rather preposterous one, unless one was the Boy-Who-Lived.

 _Harry Potter_ , he was sure, was an exception to that, but then the Heir of Slytherin was no common wizard. Which, Draco supposed, meant that Matou Shinji wasn't either, since the foreigner was not only known as the Boy-Who-Lived's closest friend and confidante, but had actually _beaten_ Harry to become Hogwarts Potions Champion.

If all he'd had to do to be reinstated into the Ourea's ranks was to talk to one of _them,_ the two people that he acknowledged as likely being better than he was, perhaps he could have swallowed his pride and done so, but he would not lower himself to being judged by the common rabble _– especially_ not by two Weasleys.

' _Not that this is much better, admittedly_.'

At St. Mungo's, his social rank didn't matter. His wealth didn't matter. The purity of his blood didn't matter.

What mattered was how well he did his job as an orderly, which consisted of assisting the Healers and Mediwizards with routine tasks such as patient transport (moving gurneys and beds between parts of the hospital), setting up rooms for various procedures, taking vitals and talking to mobile patients to help with intake…and cleaning the facilities.

He admitted that the navy blue uniform robes he wore were quite fetching, compared to the lime green of Healers, the sky blue of mediwizards, or the grey green of the hospital's potioneers, but they also marked him as an orderly, and even among them, his youth and relative inexperience were obvious, which meant that he was often given the least desirable duties.

Which meant that he was usually tasked with taking care of the patients in the Janus Thickey Ward, a closed ward for those whose minds had been permanently affected by spells – essentially the equivalent of a psychiatric unit in a Muggle hospital – two of whom were Frank and Alice _Longbottom_ , former Aurors who had been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange more than a decade before.

On learning he was to care for them, he'd steeled himself for the worst. After all, if they recognized him – or thought of him as his father, who had fought against them in the First War…

…but they hadn't.

They hadn't recognized him. Hadn't recognized their son, Neville, who had visited earlier in the summer. Hadn't recognized anyone at all. For that matter, he hadn't recognized them when he'd first seen them, as they seemed nothing like any Auror he knew, with their faces thin and worn now, their eyes overlarge and glazed over, their white hair wispy and all dried out. To him, it was as if they were corpses pretending to be alive, empty husks whose brains simply hadn't gotten the memo that they were supposed to be dead.

With how young he was and how he'd been brought up, Draco Malfoy had never pitied anyone in his life. After all, everything that happened to someone else was obviously their fault…right? (Even if the same standards didn't quite apply to him, a natural enough assumption given fundamental attribution error).

Still, even knowing that the Longbottoms had been Aurors, and thus had been natural – and perfectly legitimate – targets for the Death Eaters, it was hard not to feel a twinge of sympathy for all they had lost, and the circumstances in which they'd lost it. He'd known the story of what happened to them, as it was a matter of public record that the young couple had been kidnapped by a contingent of Death Eaters and tortured into insanity, as their captors took their claims of the Dark Lord's demise to be a lie.

Privately, he'd always thought that the sentencing of Aunt Bellatrix and the others to life in Azkaban – what was essentially a lifetime of torture – to be unnecessarily harsh, and that the…rigorous interrogation of the two Aurors surely did not merit the label of the most "atrocious and infamous" act in modern history. After all, the Ministry under the command of Bartemius Crouch Senior had made good use of the Cruciatus Curse to force _suspected_ Death Eaters to reveal information they believed crucial to the resolution of the war, so how had this been any different?

Frankly, his opinion hadn't changed, given the merits of the case, though the more time he spent around the Longbottoms, the more horrified he became at the situation as it was now. In some respects, he thought they'd be better off if they were dead – that indeed, Neville would be better off without his parents entirely. Granted, every now and then, as he helped them with their daily walks, took their vitals and made sure they were fed, he saw what _might_ have been a spark of awareness trapped locked within the ruins of a shattered mind, but the pragmatic side of him dismissed it as his imagination.

Why would they begin to recover now, after all, when there'd been no signs of remembering who they were, or even regaining the power of speech, after thirteen years? He supposed he could understand why Neville and his grandmother would _want_ to believe that one day – someday – Frank and Alice Longbottom would truly wake up again, and things would be as they had once been, but he knew too that such was only a false hope.

And so he pitied _them_ , the living who were chained to these walking corpses by misplaced affection and duty. For Augusta and Neville Longbottom were trapped in the past as much as Frank and Alice were trapped in their own minds, and just as much victims of a war that most thought done and over with.

' _Only it isn't. Not when there are so many still broken and wounded today, people on both sides scarred by what they saw – what they did – what they feared. You can't just say that a war is over and expect everyone to fall in line – not inside their hearts and minds. They might stop killing each other, but the factions remain…'_

Unspoken feuds, fears and hatreds, lurking just below the surface.

It was funny. Before joining the Ourea, he had never used to think about things of that sort. He'd accepted that the truth was how his elders – mostly his father and the books he'd read – presented it, and that others would try to lie to him to take advantage of his family's wealth.

After all, family and purity of blood were everything.

…or at least, they had been.

As such, he'd never _really_ respected Gilderoy Lockhart, thinking that the adventurer-cum-History Professor man probably was just a fraud who delighted in regaling his students with twisted, sensational versions of what had really happened in history.

Until the man had begun talking about the Unforgivables, at any rate, taking the rather interesting position that the Killing Curse, Cruciatus Curse, and Imperius Curse were only Unforgivable because the Ministry said so, and not because of any inherent vileness to them.

After all, thanks to his time in the hospital, Draco could think of any number of merciful uses for the Killing Curse, such as the all too common case where a patient was already dying of an incurable disease or curse, and was suffering greatly in the meanwhile, or if there were more casualties than resources available, meaning that only a few people could be treated, with the rest left to suffer…and die.

' _I never asked for this. Never asked to be tasked with choosing who would live…'_

And yet he'd had to do just that on the night of the attack at the Quidditch World Cup, when an unprecedented number of casualties – over a hundred, had been brought to St. Mungo's – so many that the cafeteria had been converted into an impromptu receiving unit, with him finding himself assigned to triage.

Normally, as a very junior orderly, the boy was kept well away from anything that might have him in a position of responsibility, but with so few people on duty – the vast majority of them having taken the day (or week) off to see the World Cup, ironically enough – all remaining hands were needed and _he,_ a boy who had never _really_ had to face the reality of violence,was pressed into service.

' _There were so many people…'_

Many of them people he knew, which couldn't be avoided. Some were mostly whole and hale, simply suffering from smoke inhalation or a sprained ankle. Some had broken bones, crushed chests, severed limbs. Some were nearly bleeding out from savage bite and claw marks. Some were charred nearly beyond recognition.

And he – Draco Malfoy – tasked to choose who would live…and who would die.

He'd wanted to fall upon his knees and wail at the unfairness of it all, but knew that if he did, that would mean one less person to help those who so desperately needed it. People like Ronald Weasley, who had seemed dazed and disoriented, but otherwise unharmed. People like Su Li, whose body had been riddled by large splinters from a tree that had apparently exploded when from heat of approaching fiendfyre. People like Crabbe or Goyle or Nott, who were beyond help.

People like Arthur Weasley, who had fallen unconscious and would not wake up.

And many, many more.

There had been so many faces. So many people begging to be saved, putting aside the pride and hostility they might have otherwise felt to plead for treatment – or to ask that he admit someone else first, since that other person needed the help more.

He had killed his human heart, steeled himself against the screams of pain, the whimpers, the desperate pleading, because there weren't enough beds, or enough Healers to see everyone.

Not everyone could live. That was the cold logic of it – one he hated as much as any of them, would have fought against as hard as any of them, only he could not, as chance had placed him into a position where he was duty bound to choose those who would be saved.

He'd made his decisions as best he could, choosing who he thought needed care most urgently and who he thought might survive, but despite that, his actions haunted him still.

' _Could I have done more? Did I choose the right people?'_

If he closed his eyes, he could still see the hollow faces of those he had left for dead staring accusingly at him, as if to say that by looking over their wounds and walking away, when he – and he alone – could have saved them, he had murdered them instead.

Crabbe. Nott. Goyle. Zabini. Face after face after face…though none as frequently as the face of a girl he'd found more beautiful than anyone else, someone who he'd desperately wanted to save…

…the face of Cho Chang.

She'd been bitten by a werewolf during the attack, with her boyfriend Diggory sacrificing his life in an attempt to fight it off before he was ambushed by a second lycan, and had somehow managed to join up with the refugee column.

In some ways, she was one of the lucky ones, for though her wound – a bite on her torso – was deep, it was clean, and so could have been easily treated by a mixture of powdered silver and dittany.

…but her parents, who had come as soon as they were notified that she was here, had refused. Far better that she died, they'd said, consumed by the lycan's curse, than live on as a werewolf, a beast in human flesh.

For that was the grim reality of a werewolf's bite.

If it was not treated, the victim would invariably die in a process that was said to be more painful than the Cruciatus, as his or her body consumed itself from within, flesh twisting, _ripping_ itself apart in a failed transformation. If it _was_ treated, the person would live – but as a lycan him or herself, cursed to transform into a fell beast each month, a mindless creature whose claws and fangs were more deadly than any spell, who would turn upon even their closest friends or family.

Granted, this last could be mitigated by the Wolfsbane Potion, which allowed a lycan to keep his or her mind when they transformed, but that elixir was hideously expensive, costing more for a single dose than most people made in a year.

With such constraints, the Changs had chosen for Cho to die, believing that in the long run, death was the more merciful choice for their daughter.

And so, with everyone else busy treating patients, _saving them_ , after Draco had made his choices, the boy was left to explain to the girl he so admired that she wouldn't be saved. That despite how much it hurt and how easily her wound could be sealed, she would receive no treatment.

That she would be left to die.

" _Why…?"_ she'd asked him, her eyes wide with confusion and fear, as her parents left without looking back, as if she was already dead to them. _"Why won't you save_ me _?"_

" _I…"_ The boy's voice had faltered. He hadn't known what to say. He'd never been trained in this, never expected to be thrown into this kind of situation. There had been many things he considered saying, such as the fact that living would only be worse if she became a werewolf and everyone in Britain blamed her for the very attack which had cursed her, or that her parents likely had a reason, but all of them sounded callous and insensitive. _"It's not that I don't want to…"_

" _Then why?!"_ she'd insisted, her eyes brimming with tears as her body shook in pain. _"My wound…it's not that bad…is it? Malfoy…?"_

He couldn't look at her.

" _Malfoy, please…"_

He wanted nothing more than to help her, than to soothe away the hurt in her eyes, than to have her see him as a hero…but he couldn't.

And yet he couldn't face her, either.

"Your parents…" he'd said quietly, carefully avoiding her gaze, lest he break down and do something very, very rash, like steal a mixture of silver and dittany to save her life. "They thought this was better. That you wouldn't want to live…"

" _Wouldn't want to…?_ "She'd broken down, sobbing. " _I don't…I don't want to die._ _Please…help me, Malfoy…help me…save me. I know you can. Please…_ "

" _I…"_

" _I'll do anything…"_ Cho had whispered, and it had been hardest thing in the world not to give in to every impulse in his body telling him to save the girl, every treacherous thought which whispered that _anything_ was such an expansive term, fraught with promise.

"… _Alright,"_ the boy had said, as fierce, irrational hope had lit up the girl's eyes.

" _Thank you. Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou."_

Her words had come in a rush, as the boy had ducked out of the room – but not to get the lifesaving mixture. Instead, he'd convinced one of the potioneers to give him a vial of Draught of Living Death, which he'd given to the girl, with her believing that it was the cure she needed even as she slipped into a slumber from which she would never awaken.

In the days afterward, he couldn't get her grateful expression out of his mind, with that one image causing him more pain than any of the others.

She'd…trusted him. Believed in him. She'd wanted to live more than anything else – though he was sure that she didn't understand what it meant to be a monster.

…and so he'd lied to her. He'd betrayed her faith in him, and let her die.

True, he'd done what he could for her, using the Draught to spare her any further pain as her mind slipped away, but even so, he felt guilty.

It was only now that he finally understood the meaning of the _Kobayashi Maru_ – the no-win scenario – for this had been his, an instance where no amount of strength, or guile, or preparation would have seen him through.

'… _Lockhart wanted to prepare us for what it meant to be a leader,'_ he realized bitterly. _'To accept that there would be times when we failed, not through any fault of our own, but because the world isn't fair.'_

And that it had _never_ been fair, or as simple, as history normally portrayed it.

' _I don't want a world like that.'_

Yet that was the world he lived in.

' _I don't want to live in a world where Cho is dead because her parents wouldn't let me save her – where even if she was saved, her life would be misery.'_

But he had no other choice….or did he?

* * *

There was a certain comfort in routine. In repetitive tasks performed one after another in the long-term ward, as he assessed patient after patient, checking their vitals and recording any change in their condition. The busier he stayed, the more he had to do, the less often he would see Cho's face hanging before him, looking with him with such gratitude for his lie that it made him feel like the most despicable man on earth.

There was a certain magic in playing a role, after all, as he'd found through his willing – even enthusiastic – participation in Lockhart's theatrical productions, which if he was being honest, was the real reason he had been sent to work at St. Mungo's.

His performance in second year as a Hero of Light, who had sacrificed himself to defeat the evil _Makar Zolgen,_ had been one thing. Those in his third year, where he'd played Sir Luckless in _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ and the eponymous Romeo of _Romeo and Juliet,_ had been something else altogether.

After all, one of them positively depicted a Muggle-Wizard romance – and its staging had once been the cause of a feud between the late Albus Dumbledore and Draco's father, and the other…well, as _Romeo, Draco_ had certainly beena dashing figure of romance and passion, who was utter devoted to Hermione Granger's _Juliet_.

When he'd met the other members of the cast at the first rehearsal, Draco had been aghast to discover that his co-star was none other than the mudblood who had once been a leading contender for the role of Hogwarts Potions Champion – and who had once been romantically involved with Matou. But having already agreed to play his part, the boy had told himself that this would be no different than being Sir Luckless in _The Fountain of Fair Fortune,_ who had also ended up entangled with Hermione's Amata by play's end _._

But that had been a lie.

In _The Fountain of Fair Fortune,_ the romantic subplot that so irritated his father had been an afterthought, at best, something that had only been included at the end to tie up loose ends. _Romeo and Juliet_ , however, was all about the relationship between the two lovers, the difficulties they had due to their feuding families and their need to keep their relationship a secret, and more.

The nature of the forbidden relationship between the two had intrigued him, especially given that there were times when reality and fantasy had blended, with something Juliet had said resonating with _Draco_ and something Hermione said making Romeo smile.

Strangely, the more time he had spent with Hermione Granger, the more he was forced to concede that she wasn't some bossy mudblood who had just attached herself to Matou, but someone who was passionate and daring in her own right, even if she couldn't express herself well when she wasn't playing a role. For when she was – when she stepped out onto the stage, it was as if she was animated by some inner fire and purpose, something he found dazzling because she held nothing back.

He wasn't like that. There was always a part of him held in reserve, a part of him that was fully aware he was only playing a role, that such was all society was – a series of roles.

And yet despite _her_ seeming to be aware of that as well, since she'd said more than once that all the world was a stage, and all the men and women merely players, she threw herself into her roles with a passion and drive he envied.

On that stage, she wasn't Hermione Granger, the sometimes awkward, sometimes socially troubled mudblood. She was _Juliet_ , the girl that Romeo had fallen in love with at first sight – and Draco, troublingly enough, could see _why_ Romeo had fallen.

It wasn't that she kissed him – though she had done so, or rather, let him kiss her, following the stage directions. It wasn't that she was a great kisser, though he was forced to admit that in his admittedly limited experience she was certainly _was,_ and that the taste of her lips had been intoxicating. It wasn't even that he found her more interesting, more clever, more his equal than anyone he'd ever known.

It was that when she spoke, when she moved, when she smiled, he could see how utterly _alive_ she was, and how present she was in each moment, like no one else he'd ever known.

As Romeo, he'd been privileged to see her – to practice with her – to spend time with her, no matter what their parents might have said, and so he, too, had thrown everything he had into _being_ Romeo, and in the process wondered if how Romeo saw Juliet was how Matou saw Lovegood.

He'd only ever seen the daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood, publisher of the Quibbler, as an eccentric, after all, someone worthy of scorn for not playing her role properly. But what if she was – what if she was being herself, playing the only role she knew how, no matter what it cost her?

…perhaps he'd done too well as Romeo.

The performance had caused a bit of a stir in the _Daily Prophet_ , after all, with one of Britain's most prominent gossip columnists wondering if he and Granger were in a relationship, given the two plays they'd been in, how tenderly they'd looked at each other – and how passionately they'd kissed on stage, like long-lost lovers either "finding each other after a lifetime apart" or who knew "this would be their last moment together and poured their passion into every moment," since following the play, Hermione had indeed left Hogwarts for the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts, something that had made him feel an odd sense of loss.

Naturally, Lucius Malfoy, his father, had been incensed at Draco's seeming dalliance with a mudblood, with the poor judgment he'd demonstrated throughout the year showing that he could not be trusted to manage his time. Thus, Draco's access to the family account had been rescinded, with the boy shipped off to St. Mungo's for the summer to work – and live – without any special dispensations to allow him to perform spells.

The intent of this had been to teach him discipline so that he wouldn't shame the family – or his country – at the Tri-Wizard tournament, and disciplined he had become. After all, the hospital had kept him busy, too busy to even think about going to any events outside it – a minor blessing in disguise, given that he couldn't have afforded a ticket to any proper events even if weren't so busy.

…this had, in all likelihood, ended up saving his life, after the Championship match, though in the wake of what happened, he felt a hint of trepidation when he came to the room of the last patient in the ward – and the most recently admitted.

A man who had fallen into a coma for no discernable reason – and who by any measure, should be someone he simply reviled as a blood traitor, but couldn't, as the man had taught him many things at Hogwarts, and had proven to be a good Professor.

Arthur Weasley.

Taking a deep breath, the boy opened the door to find a familiar figure sitting by the man's bed – a redheaded girl a year beneath him at Hogwarts, who was reading aloud from a rather thick book, even though there was no one else in the room but her comatose father.

"Back again, Malfoy?" Ginevra Weasley asked quietly, looking up at the sound of his steps.

At one point, the boy might have said something snide and cutting, but now…

"I could say the same of you," Draco observed, not unkindly, as he closed the door. Slowly, he walked over to the bedside of the stricken Professor, and began taking vitals. "Tell me, do you think he can hear you reading to him?"

"It can't hurt," Ginevra murmured, shaking her head.

"I suppose it can't," Draco acknowledged, fingertips finding the pulse-point at Arthur Weasley's neck as he watched the rise and fall of the man's chest. "He deserves better than this. So do you."

The Weasley girl's eyebrows shot up as if in shock.

"…I'm surprised you'd say that," Ginny said frankly. "Doesn't your family hate mine?"

"Maybe they did," Draco admitted. "But I don't really care. No one deserves this. Losing a mother. Having your father there, but missing…"

"…you're talking about yourself, aren't you?"

"Both of us, really." The boy shook his head, as he checked the Professor's pupils, reflexes and more, dutifully jotting down the response – or lack thereof – that his actions prompted. "No change from yesterday, I'm afraid."

"That's alright. I hadn't really expected anything else," Ginny said tiredly, letting her body slump over in the chair. "It's just…it's been a week…"

"I wish I had good news for you," Draco replied – and he meant it. "For everyone else that I tend to, there isn't much hope. For the Professor…"

"Mm…you've changed, Malfoy."

But the boy only chuckled ruefully.

"Maybe, but is it a good change, I wonder?" he wondered aloud, shaking his head. "I…"

"How are you, anyway?" the girl asked, looking up at his more uncertain tone, and noting on closer observation that the boy seemed to have dark circles under his eyes, and that he seemed very…weary. "You don't look so well."

"I'll live," Draco said dryly. "Though at the moment, I'm not sure that's a good thing."

"Want to talk about it?"

There was a moment of silence, as the Slytherin took the young girl's offer serious, but in the end, the boy shook his head.

"…not right now, Weasley," he replied. "But thank you."


	15. Between and Betwixt

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 15** **.** _Between and Betwixt_

From the spectator area of the greatest of _Mahoutokoro's_ practice arenas, Zelkova watched two practitioners of the Western arts witchcraft face off with deadly intent. He knew one of the combatants in passing, of course, with George Weasley being one of his Master's colleagues and Tomas was known to him as a powerful practitioner who had trained his Master. Still, he'd never seen the latter in action, and the _kodama_ had to admit that the level of power and ability the former was displaying was considerably above what he had previously observed.

' _Part of which is due to him acquiring a_ satori _as a familiar…'_

A variety of youkai whose powers revolved around knowledge, satori did not start off as particularly powerful on their own, with their innate abilities limited to a portfolio centered on perception of patterns – reading minds, predicting actions, and seeing through illusions – and concealment. And as they could not develop more combat relevant abilities – or a humanoid form – on their own, they tended to avoid conflict in this state, meaning that most were never exposed to the new patterns – spells, abilities, and forms – they needed to observe and replicate to become stronger.

As such, they preferred entering into symbiotic relationships with capable practitioners, giving those they bonded with access to their potent pattern-reading abilities, boosting a practitioner's combat capability considerably. In turn, _satori_ received the benefit of someone who could protect them, and gained access to the host's knowledge, as well as that of those they encountered.

 _Satori_ fortunate enough to enter into such relationships developed much more quickly than those in the wild, given the exposure to a wide array of patterns to replicate, and as such tended to remain bonded until a practitioner's death.

But, being a _youkai_ who was closely attuned to the patterns of the world himself, Zelkova could see that the Weasley boy's abilities did not come solely from union with a _satori_. In fact, even without the influence of the _satori…_

'… _he feels far more like more youkai than he did at Hogwarts.'_

Which meant this shift was due to something George had done while at _Mahoutokoro_ …

' _Curious indeed. But then, humans are odd creatures.'_

Even after a year living among practitioners of witchcraft, the _kodama_ still found their customs very strange, with their courtship rituals especially so, though humans intrigued him all the same. They had the ability to shape the world, after all, and often did so, either to make themselves more comfortable, or as a way of saying "I was here."

He couldn't help but feel that the spark most humans had only burned so brightly because of their short existences, as if knowing that they would one day die, they fought oblivion with all their might, seeking to leave something, anything, behind to say that they once existed.

And yet, despite this fear of death, there were those among them who faced it even so, who valued things above their own lives, who would march into the very jaws of destruction out of loyalty to a cause, a nation, or to one another. Who would willingly lay down their lives if they were asked, even though in any other situation they would oppose the end with everything they had.

His Master was one such, with the overriding drive in Matou Shinji's life being his desire to stand at the side of the Director of Atlas. And even in the short time the _kodama_ had been the boy's familiar, it had been plain that his loyalty to the Alchemist was utterly absolute – that whatever she asked, he would do, whatever she went, he would follow – that even if she became the enemy of the world and all upon it, Matou Shinji would be her ally.

Indeed, in becoming Potions Champion of Hogwarts, Matou Shinji had ruthlessly crushed his best friend's dreams because the Atlasia had willed it. He had chosen to refuse an offer of British Citizenship because he had not want to be tied to any one nation, even as a hero, when it might cost him a potential future elsewhere. And when Matou Zouken had forced him to choose between his family and his idol, he'd turned against his family, throwing away everything he had once sought without a moment's hesitation.

While the familiar had been otherwise preoccupied for most of the summer, he had been there on the fateful night when Matou Shinji left Fuyuki for the last time. He had come face to face with Matou Zouken and the pit of worms that the Archmagus commanded, and had seen how much it had cost his Master to defy the Matou patriarch and turn his blade against his family.

Just as he had seen how Matou Shinji had suffered in the days after, when the news of what had happened in Fuyuki had become public. He'd asked Matsuo Hijiri if there was something he should do for his Master, as he was aware that he didn't have a grasp on how to deal with humans in distress, but the Maiden of the Tree had told him that the initial stage of grief was something that Shinji needed to work through himself.

That she would monitor the boy to ensure his well-being, and that the Tree might guide him, as it would all those who dwelt in _Mahoutokoro,_ but that Matou Shinji needed to find the answers to the questions no doubt bouncing in his head.

 _Who are you?_

Who was Matou Shinji, when he was no longer a Matou, when a good part of what had defined him had been torn away? And by his own choice, no less?

 _What do you want?_

What did Matou Shinji want, more than anything else in the world?

 _Why are you here? Where are you going?_

To find answers to the questions he'd been asking all his life, and to new questions that had just arisen. To find who he was and what he was, to find out what it was he wanted for _himself_ and not what others wanted from him – a difficult thing, because trying to please and impress others had been the foundation of Matou Shinji's existence.

And when he was cast adrift, a final question would no doubt arise:

 _Do you have anything worth living for?_

Zelkova had seen what his master's answer to that had been when the boy had chosen to go to Miss Lovegood's side, wherever in the world she might be. When his Master had returned, he seemed more stable, less…brittle than he had been before, no doubt due to Miss Lovegood's influence.

' _Much as I have.'_

The _kodama_ would admit that he was fond of the girl – that the way she was attuned to the inhuman aspects of the world made her reminded him of a _youkai_. As someone who saw the world for what it was, instead of accepting the convenient illusions and half-truths her peers spun to make themselves more comfortable with their lives, she was very unusual for a human, or even a practitioner of witchcraft.

That was largely why she was more skilled with fusion than his Master was, despite having less formal training in the Eastern Arts – because her mindset, the way she saw the world – already primed her for such things. Though of course, practitioners who were aligned with the water element tended to have an easier time with fusion anyway…

But that was enough of other thoughts, as there was a duel that he was here to observe.

"Honored spirit, who do you believe will be victorious?" a voice inquired, with Zelkova turning to see a curious human girl dressed in a midnight-blue _yukata,_ as opposed to the other observers in their school uniforms or robes.

Tsuchimikado Hokuto.

During his time spent learning from – and working with – the Maiden of the Tree, he had encountered the granddaughter to the head of the Japanese Council of Magic several times, though they had never formally been introduced.

"Tsuchimikado-san," he greeted, inclining his head deferentially. "It is unusual to see you here."

"And you, honored spirit," the girl replied, her raven-colored hair framing a delicate face and two very curious almond eyes. "I had believed that you attended to the Maiden of the Tree."

"Only for this summer," the _kodama_ said simply. "I am, after all, the familiar of Matou Shinji."

"The Potions Champion of Hogwarts," Hokuto observed, eyes lighting up as she recognized the name. "I expressed interest in facing him in battle, but thus far, he has not replied."

"I can only assume that the challenge has slipped my Master's mind, as he is unfortunately preoccupied with preparations for the Potions Competition."

"I am aware," the girl noted simply. "After all, he has been training with Sajyou-sama, yes?"

Zelkova raised a silver eyebrow in surprise.

"Yes, that is so," he said quietly. "But you were inquiring about the two below?"

"Indeed. I am aware that Peverell-dono is…highly skilled, but I wish to see how he will do against a fellow practitioner of the western arts," Tsuchimikado Hokuto explained, glancing down at the battle in progress. "Especially one who is bonded with a _satori."_

"Mm." The _kodama's_ golden eyes seemed almost amused at the notion. "I can see why you'd be interested, given that you yourself are bonded with a _satori._ "

The girl paused for a moment, then simply nodded.

"I should not be surprised that you noticed, honored spirit. Indeed, I am bonded to a _satori_ ," Hokuto acknowledged. "Though I do not use its abilities in the majority of my duels, as it renders them…even more uninteresting than usual."

"I can imagine how that might be the case," Zelkova allowed. "Especially as I imagine you were already quite skilled to begin with."

"Indeed. Those who can test my capacity – or exceed it – are few indeed," the practitioner remarked. "Peverell-dono is one of them."

"And Sajyou-sama another?"

"Correct," the Tsuchimikado girl confirmed. "I have yet to win a match against Kaiduka-sama's apprentice, but then Sajyou-sama is…formidable."

"Her mastery of yin and yang would certainly render her such," Zelkova acknowledged. "Especially as she is likely capable of breaking down elemental attacks into their most basic components and dissipating the prana involved."

"Indeed. Formidable, did I say? Terrifying would perhaps more apt, were she to draw upon the fullness of her power." Tsuchimikado Hokuto's words hung in the air for a long moment before she continued. "Fortunately, she does not. Now, your thoughts, honored spirit?"

At the query, the _kodama_ turned his attention to the field below, where George Weasley was pressing his assault, beams of red and blue and green streaking towards the puppet called Tomas, with those aimed towards _him_ onlypassing through thin air as the redhead blinked in and out of existence, disappearing in one place and reappearing in another.

To the untrained eye, it seemed as if he was using the western technique of combat apparition, something that drew a number of murmurs from the audience.

After all, while it _was_ known to be a potent western technique, allowing a person to instantly shift to another location provided that one could visualize and focus upon a desired location in their mind, it was exceptionally difficult to do in combat due to that very reason. In combat, one needed to keep track of what one's opponent was doing, to anticipate one's foe and react to his or her attacks by evasion, shielding, or counter-spell, and usually had no focus to spare for anything more complicated.

And if one tried splitting one's attention, this tended to result in either incapacitation at the enemy's hands, when one took one's focus off one's foe, or in splinching, with random parts of one's body left behind when one apparated.

A leg, for example. An arm. A pound of flesh. Some internal organ.

The less focus one could spare, the worse the outcome usually was. And even if the attempt wasn't immediately fatal, it could still spell one's loss. For these reasons and more, few even attempted to use apparition in combat – and fewer still with any regularity.

In the 20th century, there had been three Westerners known for being able to use this technique as anything more than a desperation move, and at the names of two of those (Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore) were, to say the least, well-known to the average European wizard – or scholar of wizarding history.

The name of Lord Voldemort, or Tom Marvolo Riddle, rather, was not, considering the limited scope of his operations, though for that reason, he was as notorious in _Britain_ as Grindelwald was in the rest of Europe.

Which made George Weasley's apparent mastery of the technique something that raised more than a few eyebrows even among the Japanese audience.

"Weasley-san is admittedly quite impressive," the _kodama_ allowed, as he watched the boy blink into view, casting a few spells, before vanishing once more. "As you can no doubt see, what he does is not quite combat apparition."

"He seems…to be shifting into a spiritual form when he fades, and using the superior speed of that spirit form to simulate apparition," Hokuto observed, her eyes now glowing gold as she drew upon her familiar's superior perception abilities. "An interesting strategy, though not one I would have expected from a western practitioner. Besides Peverell-dono, that is."

Her exceptions were different when it came to eastern practitioners, given that flow-walking was a fairly common ability among those at higher levels of skill.

Indeed, her own style made heavy use of flow-walking to achieve extreme tactical mobility – something only Tomas had been able to match in the past.

"Mm." Zelkova agreed wordlessly, though he noted that for all of George's efforts, the Weasley boy had never managed to close with Tomas or even to disorient the puppet, with the other making casual use of combat apparition to avoid the boy's onslaught. "Curious."

Being able to shift himself into the spirit world, after all, implied that the redhead had awakened a good deal of his inhuman nature, and in a very short time.

"Indeed. His brother was…not as impressive in comparison," the Tsuchimikado girl related stiffly, recalling how easily she had defeated Fred Weasley. "But then, I do not know which twin's level of skill is typical for Westerners of their age."

"Neither, actually," the _kodama_ noted.

"Oh?"

"They are both comrades of my Master, having fought alongside him on a number of occasions. And like my Master, both are considered exceptionally skilled for their age."

"Hm," Hokuto allowed after a moment. "Perhaps their true talents of the twin lie in an area other than combat then."

"They are quite good at coordination and strategy," Zelkova related. "Neither of which is exactly applicable to a one-on-one duel."

The Japanese girl made a grunt of acknowledgement, and settled in to watch with more detail as the duel continued below.

It was a veritable game of cat and mouse, with spell beams of all colors crisscrossing the battlefield and splattering harmlessly against the floor or the arena wall, as neither combatant seemed to be able to hit the other, since both moved about so erratically as the minutes stretched on.

"They seem evenly matched," Hokuto remarked, seeming somewhat…surprised. "I had assumed Peverell-dono would have already won by this point, but his capabilities do not seem to extend to dealing with spirits – or those who borrow their abilities."

"From what I have seen, such things are not a large part of the western curriculum, unlike in the East," Zelkova replied. "At least in Britain, there are few spirits that pose a danger to practitioners in the West."

"I see…" The Tsuchimikado girl blinked. She seemed somewhat uncertain, given that knowledge. "How unexpected. If Peverell-dono cannot effectively counter the other's spirit form…will he lose then?"

The _kodama_ did not reply immediately, as he watched the two combatants clash over and over.

"Doubtful," he said after a moment. "Even if he cannot, this is the first time Weasley-san is facing an opponent with while using the power of a _satori_. And while his abilities are impressive, I fear that his opponent has not shown his hand."

"Oh?"

"From what my Master says, his opponent is a master of the mind arts," the _kodama_ explained. "So if Weasley-san is relying on mind-reading to give him an edge…"

"I see…"

And so things proved when Tomas stepped forward, thrusting his free arm outwards with a grip-like gesture – as George Weasley phased back into tangibility, clawing in shock at the invisible hand that had wrapped around his throat and was even now lifting him into the air.

If he'd had a moment to think, perhaps he could have recovered, could have found a way to come back from this sudden upset, but the boy had never expected to be physically assaulted while in spirit form. He'd been ready to defend against spells of all sorts, as he knew that his opponent would send them at him when he materialized, but…

" _ **Expelliarmus**_ ," Tomas spoke coldly, as George's wand flew from his grip – and into Tomas' waiting wand hand. "And so it ends," the puppet remarked, seeming almost disappointed. "An impressive performance, I admit, but for now… _ **Stupefy!**_ _"_

A bright red beam struck the Weasley boy, his form jerking from the impact – and then going limp as Tomas lowered him to the ground.

Zelkova shook his head as he saw this.

"As you have no doubt seen, the ability to read another's thoughts is only useful if one can be certain what one reads is true," the _kodama_ noted. "And when one's opponent is skilled in those arts, and perhaps, more than simply defending one's thoughts, supplies false ones…"

"Peverell-dono has been known to do such," Hokuto noted. "Such is why I do not rely on that ability when facing him, as he can turn that advantage into a weakness." She paused, watching coolly as the referee revived George, who rose to his feet, facing the one who had defeated him while gingerly rubbing his throat. "A favor, honored spirit?"

"Yes, Tsuchimikado-san?"

"I understand that your Master will be remaining at _Mahoutokoro_ until Halloween. Please inform him that I wish to face him at his convenience before he departs for Britain."

"As you request, Tsuchimikado-san."

But all fell silent as Tomas spoke to his defeated foe.

"I am impressed, Mister Weasley. You clearly have some potential, even if you were perhaps a bit too confident in your abilities."

"Thank you but…may I ask how you did that?" George inquired, looking suspiciously at Tomas' empty hand. "I've heard Matou can deal with spirits, but…"

"He and I share the same Master, Mister Weasley," was all the puppet said, as he handed over George's wand, with the Weasley boy taking the proffered instrument.

The two stepped back and bowed to one another, and with that, the duel was over.

* * *

After a night he would remember for the rest of his life, or he thought, Fred Weasley fell into an exhausted slumber, slipping into the land of dreams with a peaceful smile on his face. For the first time since he'd learned what had happened at the Quidditch World Cup, he would sleep without nightmares, thanks to the lovely young woman on whose chest his head was pillowed.

A young woman that wouldn't be there for long though, for once his breathing had slowed to the deep and even rhythm of one asleep, she deftly extricated herself from his embrace, a self-satisfied smile on her face as she sat up and stretched, an act that only emphasized her ample bust.

Chuckling to herself, the girl rolled out of bed and stood, padding over to the open window, with the moonlight streaming through it making her seem almost ethereal, with raven-colored hair that fell like a curtain to her slender waist serving as a contrast to her pale skin and delicate features.

Indeed, from looking at her, it was obvious why the now-slumbering Fred seemed so very happy – especially as thoughts of her – and wanting to see her smile – had raced through his mind for months, and if the mere thought of her could distract him from his pain, then one could imagine how much comfort the touch and feel of her body could bring him.

"Tsuchimikado Hokuto," she murmured quietly, as she reveled in the feel of the cool night air on bare skin. "A good name, that."

But not her name, even if she'd borrowed the form of the girl whose name it was for these nighttime activities.

She'd known many names in her time, as many as the forms she'd worn, with most of those she'd encountered having no clue as to her true identity.

…or that she wasn't even properly human.

"Humans are so strange sometimes. Building cities, wishing for things they can never have, giving names to everything," she mused as she reached over to the chair where her clothes had been unceremoniously discarded. "But I suppose I can't complain, since they do know how to make very enjoyable things."

Things like sake, fine clothes, good food.

Things like comfortable beds and satin sheets.

Things like books.

So she thought to herself as she pulled on her midnight-blue yukata, sighing at the long-forgotten sensation of soft fabric on her skin as she cast a glance at the boy whose innocence she'd taken over and over and over again, until at last his body gave out, and he could move no more.

His prana had tasted so very sweet, as expected of a virgin, and truth be told, he hadn't been… _bad_ after the first time, though even how he hadn't really known what to do at first had been almost cute, with the boy simply letting her take the lead as he was overcome with pleasure, intoxicated by her touch, her taste, her kiss. After that, she'd guided his petting and such towards what felt better for her, slowly enough that he might think it was her first time – as it was this form's – and he'd so earnestly tried to please her, as if by pleasuring her and being pleasured in turn, he could forget about what had happened half a world away.

Which had been part of the reason she'd done this, given that she'd thought it would be nice for him to enjoy a good night of sleep on his last night in _Mahoutokoro_ , before he had to return to the land of his birth. An easy enough task, really, because in his grief and rage, he'd wanted to believe that someone might come by who understood him, someone who didn't want to talk about had happened, but who would give him a hug and hold him.

She imagined that like most human males, her Master would be quite susceptible to the charm of the one he desired, so she'd simply borrowed her form when she visited his room, and had been rewarded with Fred's look of utter shock when he'd seen who was at the door.

In the guise of Tsuchimikado Hokuto – who she admitted even she found attractive – she'd expressed her condolences at what had happened, something which had deeply touched him – enough so that he hadn't questioned how he knew, and had asked if she could come in.

He'd agreed, not wanting to refuse the girl he'd had a crush on…and with touches and words, she'd seduced him. It had been an odd thing, listening to him call out Hokuto's name over and over again as she had her way with him, but it wasn't as if he knew her true name – or that he even suspected that she was someone else, so she let him believe what he wanted to.

That she was as innocent as the girl whose form she borrowed. That she had given him her first time, as she had taken his. That she wanted to bring him comfort, and had been seduced by his wit and charm, when she'd come to his room with an agenda the entire time.

Her kind was good at that, after all.

As tricksters, _tanuki_ were second to none, as far as she was concerned – not even to _kitsune._

' _I wondered if you knew how I truly was when you named me Maeve, but you have no idea, Master…'_

But then, she'd imagined as much when he had just fed her on the shores of Lake Tanuki. She'd felt his innocence, his frustrated desire to become more than he could otherwise be, and his wish to obtain a familiar – and so she'd granted his wish. And if the one who she'd chosen as her master didn't have the will to command her, nor the ability to see through her illusions, then all the better – for it meant that she could do as she wished.

On the morrow, he would be returning to a school of other young people, in a land that knew nothing of _kitsune, tanuki_ or other tricksters.

A land of young virgins and hormonal youths, with ripe bodies and sweet prana for the taking.

A land of butterbeer and honey, and food made to order – all one could eat, in fact.

She shook her head as she slipped on her sandals and padded to the door, quietly leaving the room behind. And as the door closed behind her, she shifted into another form – that of Fujou Kohaku, as that _tanuki_ set out on a walk around the City Beneath the Earth.

That there would be more mischief to come when she arrived at Hogwarts, and amusement to be had with mistaken identities, she was certain. Plenty of equivalent exchange to be one, with her receiving prana and those she visited having their wishes granted for a night – with both of them receiving pleasure from it all.

And even if her Master wouldn't approve if he knew…

…well, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.


	16. Time of Troubles

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 16.** _Time of Troubles_

As the Hogwarts Express pulled away from Platform 9¾, bound for Hogsmeade, with King's Cross falling away into the distance, Pansy Parkinson found herself sitting alone in a compartment, looking out the window and thinking about how strange this year seemed compared to those that had come before.

In the place of the usual excitement about the beginning of the year and the adventures that awaited, there was a palpable sense of grief and apprehension, in the place of joy, a current of frenzied rage and grief – things one might expect when the nation was still reeling from the death of half their citizens in a single night, at the hands of an unknown enemy.

She'd heard as much being voiced by workers at the Ministry when she'd reported there after returning to Britain to claim her inheritance as the sole remaining member of the Parkinson family, as the rest had perished in the World Cup Massacre. While it was known that the slaughter had been committed by werewolves and giants, no one really knew who the guiding intelligence behind them had been – or why they had chosen that night to attack.

Some genuinely believed it was Bulgaria, given the underhanded actions of other Eastern European countries at the Quidditch World Cup over the years, but others were not so sure. After all, every prior incident had been a crime of passion, conducted by members of a national team acting without official sanction, aided only by unscrupulous locals who weren't averse to making a quick Galleon. Everything about the Massacre, however, screamed of deliberate malice aided and abetted by the highest levels of a hostile government, from the fact that _an_ _entire army_ of werewolves and giants had been smuggled into Britain, to the interdiction field preventing escape from the area, from the cold-blooded assassination of Minister Fudge, other high ranking members of government, _and_ Britain's Quidditch teams, to the utter destruction of the World Cup stadium.

This was no crime of passion – it had been a cold, premeditated attack intended to break the British as a nation and as a people, to show them how helpless they were in the face of a serious threat, when facing an enemy that would give no quarter.

And it had nearly worked.

Had the acting Minister of Magic not risen to the task by rallying the citizenry and calling them to arms, Magical Britain surely would have collapsed into anarchy, but rally them Lucius Malfoy had done. Through fiery rhetoric and decisive action, he fanned the flames of rage, uniting a confused, frightened people against those who sought to destroy them or undermine them as a nation – against all enemies, foreign or domestic.

For the first time in its long history, Magical Britain had closed its borders to dangerous, unscrupulous _foreigners,_ and had begun raising an army – a force dedicated not to keeping the peace, but the subjugation and utter destruction of its foes, with hundreds volunteering for service, in addition to the conscripted 7th years.

…a formidable force indeed, given that Britain's remaining population amounted to perhaps 6000 wizards, and that most countries had fewer than a hundred peace officers – and little to nothing in the way of a defense force.

The vast numbers that came out – and were coming out – in support of the army and the Minister's policies, were only partially due to Malfoy's skill at rousing the passions of the people, however. Rather more, especially the younger volunteers, were moved by the account of Percy Weasley, who had been the very first wizard to offer his wand to the Minister's cause, even though his family was traditionally opposed to the politics of the Malfoys.

His actions – and his talk on the Wizarding Wireless Network on the heroism of the Aurors who had laid down their lives to hold off the giants long enough for the refugee column to escape, and how it was their duty as a people to honor the sacrifice of the fallen by stepping up to fill their shoes, becoming the protectors and ensuring that no one would hurt their people ever again – had galvanized his peers.

And of course, the tacit support of the Boy-Who-Lived, who had accepted the position of Britain's Youth Representative and thus stood with the Minister in the fight against the darkness, hadn't hurt either.

Platform 9¾ had actually been as packed as it normally was, but only a third of the people gathered there had been Hogwarts students. Over half of the student population had died in the massacre, and then a seventh of what remained had been conscripted, meaning that there were only about 400 students in a castle that usually accommodated over a thousand. The other 700 or so were recruits for the army, grimly determined youths dressed smartly in black and silver robes, bound for the training facilities in the north.

At Hogwarts, actually.

Using existing Department of Law Enforcement training areas had been deemed impractical given the sheer volume of recruits, and there was no time to construct something new, so Hogwarts had been selected as the natural choice. After all, it already had the living space – and culinary considerations – to accommodate large numbers, unused classrooms and extensive grounds on which recruits could conduct drills, train with tactical exercises, and practice eliminating hostile creatures.

Such a facility needed protection and administration, however, as well as skilled instructors versed in the art of war, and thus, much like in Pansy's second year, there was a contingent of Aurors and Hit-Wizards on board the Express as well, as well as support staff.

…Deputy Headmistress Minerva Mcgonagall had strongly protested collocating the Army's training facilities with the school, noting that Hogwarts was not a military facility, but a _school_ , with all the information leaks that implied, as well as citing concerns about the effects of an armed, autonomous force on campus – but she had been overruled by Ladon Greengrass, Head of the newly-created Department of War, as there was no location that was as well secured.

He had acknowledged her point about security, however, and as such, Hogsmeade visits for students and staff at the school had been suspended indefinitely, meaning that once one set foot on campus at the beginning of the school year, one would not be leaving it until its end – or unless there were special considerations in effect, and that mail going to and from Hogwarts would be screened by the Ministry to ensure no vital information would be released without authorization.

This…did not outrage as many as one might think, given that Hogwarts' 4th – 6th year students would not have had the chance to go to Hogsmeade anyway, that they would be heading to Durmstrang on Halloween for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The younger students had never been to the village anyway, and so to them, losing something they'd never had wasn't really a big deal.

The ban on Quidditch, with the school Nimbus 2001s appropriated by the army for aerial maneuver and combat training, might have provoked more of a response…except that the older students – and thus the bulk of the House teams – would be away in any case, with the younger students more used to Capture the Flag anyway.

(While the entire existing stock of Firebolts had indeed been nationalized following a country-wide embargo on foreign trade, the Department of War had deemed those too valuable to be used in training.)

Given the military presence, it wasn't really surprising that there were many murmurs about striking back at the Bulgarians, with some wondering openly whether the Unforgivable Curses would be authorized for use against their opponents, as it would be useful to have spells that their enemies would not be able to easily defend against.

Pansy herself didn't know, though she suspected that the answer was "yes", given that during the First Wizarding War of Britain, Bartemius Crouch had done just that, fighting fire with fire, using the same ruthless and brutality against the Ministry's enemies as they used against it.

…and no matter what the government authorized, it would be hard to lose the moral high ground when the enemy's first move had been to slaughter thousands of innocent civilians.

'… _the world has gone mad. Or maybe it was mad to begin with, and I just never noticed.'_

Even if nothing had changed from how it used to be, she reflected, Britain probably would still seem strange to her, since _she_ was very different from who she used to be. As a British Pureblood, there had been a time when Pansy Parkinson's entire world had begun and ended with the boundaries of Britain, with her country part of a great (but homogenous) wizarding world, but that was before she met Matou Shinji – and before she had become one of Gilderoy Lockhart's disciples.

In their own way, each had opened her eyes to a part of the world's truth.

The truth that wizards in different countries had different traditions, different arts, different things they valued. The truth that there were humans other than wizards who could use magic, with some serving as channels for beings with vast and illimitable powers, some born as children to the Earth, and some who bore that which Lockhart called the Gift of Solomon.

" _The Gift of Solomon?"_ she'd asked after a particularly grueling training session at Alamut, ending with her leaning against a wall from exhaustion. _"But who then, was Solomon?"_

" _A man who created a new form of magic and left behind many treasures,"_ Lockhart had explained, looking out the window at the barren lands outside the fortress. _"Or so the djinn say."_

" _Djinn?"_ Pansy had pressed.

" _You will learn about them in time,"_ was all Lockhart had said on that matter. _"The important thing you should learn about Solomon is that the Templar Order discovered a number of his relics and writings. They have studied these extensively and believe themselves to be the true successor to his will."_

" _I see…and what was his will then?"_

" _Solomon wished for a world where the mistakes wrought again and again by humans in the course of their long history are finally expunged. A world where humanity was no longer threatened by the endless cycle of chaos and upheaval that befalls civilization now and again."_

"… _that actually sounds admirable,"_ Pansy had remarked, as Lockhart turned to look at her, shaking his head sorrowfully.

" _It would be, save for the means they use. To achieve this utopia, they are willing to pay any price. To slaughter those who do not agree, to exterminate those whose practices conflict with their ideals and their beliefs. To them, the Church's desire to purge heresy, to persecute users of magic, or to invade the Holy Land were things they found convenient – things they leveraged towards their own ends, justifying the cost as simply what was necessary."_

" _And so you fight them. Have fought them. Will fight."_

" _Indeed,"_ Lockhart had explained, a grim expression on his face. "For _we believe that the ends do not justify the means, that certain means preclude certain ends. We desire peace in all things as well, but we believe there are prices that are far too dear, and that through a diversity of beliefs and opinions, we become stronger as a people."_

" _Even so, you kill when you deem it necessary. Isn't that the same justification the Templars use to justify their actions?"_

It hadn't been a question, really, just an observation, given the deadly arts her mentor had introduced her to.

" _It is,"_ Lockhart had acknowledged with a slight nod _. "But unlike our foes, we are called to a different purpose. Solomon may have desired a world where people would be at peace, but more than that, he sought true wisdom. And so our common creed calls us to be wise, to understand that we are the architects of our actions, and that we must live with their consequences. When we act – when we kill – we do not do so lightly, thinking that in the end, our purpose will absolve us of our sins. We do so knowing full well that we will bear the weight of our deeds – that the choices we make shape the stories we tell, to others – and most of all, to ourselves."_

Since returning to Britain and hearing the speculation on who had been behind the attack, she'd started to understand what Lockhart meant, and how that truth was valid for the political as well as the personal. The public certainly suspected Bulgaria had been involved at some level, but the underlying motive whispered about at the Ministry was not Quidditch, but old history.

In the end, many feared that this was long delayed retribution for what Britain had done – and hadn't done – during the Grindelwald's revolution. After all, what other nations remembered quite well was that Grindelwald had been a _British_ wizard (if one trained in the arts of war by Durmstrang)…and that during his long campaign, Britain had taken no official action to even attempt to stop him, implying that they had tacitly approved of his reign of terror. And while it was true that Albus Dumbledore had eventually fought and defeated the man, he had been acting in his capacity as a private citizen, not a British representative, something that most of Europe had never forgotten.

Magical Europe had been rather cool to Britain after that, even though Albus Dumbledore, as head of the ICW, had been a respected and well-regarded figure. And now that Dumbledore was dead…

…the more paranoid analysts at the Department of War were forced to consider that the countries that had suffered most from Grindelwald's actions might be looking for long-delayed revenge – and that they would accept nothing less than the utter destruction of Britain as a power, as Grindelwald had sought to destroy _them_.

And yet in these analysts' minds, the others were afraid to embroil themselves directly in case there was another Grindelwald level wizard waiting in the wings, so the first strike had been to use werewolves and giants so that those involved could claim ignorance.

' _They know how history sees them, and they worry that their actions are finally meeting with consequences…'_

Pansy herself didn't agree with the analysts' conclusions, as she liked to believe that wizards – that humans – were better than that.

As a British Pureblood who had been raised in the Magical World, she had once bought into the propaganda that Muggles were somehow…less than wizards, that they were silly fools whose lack of magic made them inferior to wizards – that they were forced to use strange, inconvenient contraptions to try to ape what even the least adept wizard child was capable of.

In seeing the world, however, her eyes had been opened to the truth: Muggles were not inferior, simply different, and that the only reason some wizards tried to diminish their achievements was out of fear. Fear of what Muggles could do – and had done – to them, and fear that if magic became known to the world at large, what made them unique as a culture – as a people – would be lost forever.

' _There are nearly 6 billion Muggles in the world – and maybe 1 million wizards. The sheer disparity in numbers would reason enough to maintain the Statute of Secrecy, even without hostile factions like the Templars…'_

But her thoughts were interrupted by a rapping at the door.

Who could it be, she wondered?

"Come in, it's not locked," Pansy said quietly, as the door slid open to reveal the wan face of Draco Malfoy, who stiffened for a moment at the sight of her, but forced himself to relax. The boy seemed more tired than she'd ever seen him, and there was something haunted in his eyes, like—

' _Like he's seen something he wishes he could forget…'_

"Parkinson."

"Malfoy."

The initial exchange completed, the two were silent for a few moments, before the boy forced himself to speak.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" Draco asked, eying the seat across from her.

Pansy raised a long, slim eyebrow at this, as the corners of her lips tugged upwards into something resembling a smile. There was once when she would have given the world for him to notice her, but that seemed a lifetime ago now…

"I thought you would be with Crabbe and Goyle," she remarked quietly. "Or trying to make amends with Potter."

"Crabbe and Goyle are dead." Malfoy's voice was flat, as the boy shook his head. For a moment it seemed as if something sharper was on the tip of his tongue, but the moment passed. "And I'd rather not deal with politics right now. Not after…everything."

"Just wanted a familiar face then?"

"Something like that," Draco sighed, a strange expression flickering across his face. "I got tired of sitting by myself. So…?"

"You may as well come in," Pansy said. "Better than having you stand in the doorway, after all."

The boy nodded gratefully and made his way inside, closing the door behind him.

"Sorry to hear about your parents," the boy remarked, as he sat down heavily. "Holding up alright, Parkinson?"

Pansy blinked. Was that actually… _concern_ she heard in his voice? The Draco Malfoy she'd known had never really been concerned about anyone else, or about anything save his own ambitions.

"I'm managing," she said after a beat. "I'm still dealing with the strangeness of being back in Britain. And with all the shocks from adventuring, and everything I've seen, I'm just not sure if this recent bit has really sunk in."

Draco grunted.

"Heh. I've seen that enough at St. Mungo's," he replied simply. "We all have a lot we're dealing with."

"True," Pansy conceded. "Sorry about your mother."

"Thanks," Draco whispered, shaking his head. He was silent for nearly a minute as he turned to look out the window, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. "Parkinson?"

"Yes?"

"You ever think the world's gone mad?"

But Pansy only chuckled at his words, causing both of Malfoy's eyebrows surge towards his hairline.

"What's so funny?" Draco demanded, thinking she was laughing at him.

"It's not you I'm laughing at, Malfoy," Pansy said quietly. "It's just…I was thinking the same thing before you came in. About how different things were back in first year." The girl shook her head. "I think that's the last time we sat together, right?"

"…you might be right," the boy noted. "Things _were_ different then. Hogwarts, houses, everything was fresh. New. We were all…innocent then." He frowned as he glanced at his companion. "Even second year was better than…this…"

There had been heightened security then as well, due to the escape of Sirius Black, with Aurors and Hit Wizards patrolling the platform and stationed at Hogwarts, but the fundamental assumption they'd all held to was that as normal people, they were never in any real danger to begin with, certainly not at a school some called the safest place in Britain. Danger was something that happened to other people, people like Professor Quirrell or Mad-Eye Moody, people like the Boy-Who-Lived or the Stone Cutters – people who were different, who went looking for trouble instead of worrying about their own lives.

That assumption was gone now.

"I know what you mean." Pansy found herself sympathizing with Malfoy, something she'd never really expected to do. She shook her head as she looked him over, thinking he seemed more mature than he'd once been. "…you've changed, Draco."

The boy's answer to that was a chuckle.

"I'm not the only one," he remarked, noting that Pansy herself seemed more confident, more sure of herself than before. "Tell me, Parkinson…what was it like, seeing the world with Lockhart?"

"I couldn't even begin to tell you," the girl replied, sighing. "I mean, I could, but nothing I say could really do it justice, you know?"

"Heh. Fair enough," Draco allowed, a small smile settling over his lips. "It's kind of the same for me and being an orderly at St. Mungo's."

"Oh?"

"…I was there the night after the World Cup, Parkinson," Malfoy explained repressively, his body shuddering as he recalled the many, many patients and having to _choose. "_ I saw things that…that…" He wanted to say more, but his voice failed him.

"That bad, huh?"

Draco just nodded.

"Was there _anything_ good that happened while you were there?" the girl pressed, now quite curious about what had so changed the boy. "I'll tell you a bit about my travels if you tell me something of your summer."

"Spoken like a true Slytherin," Malfoy remarked as he shook his head. "Well, I guess the most memorable thing was seeing Professor Weasley wake up from his coma."

"Coma?" Pansy echoed.

"His family was at the World Cup," Draco related. "He wasn't injured too badly, but he saw his wife and his two oldest children die before his eyes, which I think sent him into shock."

"I see."

"He was my patient, since they didn't know when he would wake up. I worked in the long-term ward, seeing people like…"

"…like?" Pansy prompted.

"…people like the Longbottoms, the ones tortured into insanity."

"Oh."

"Still, unlike everyone else I took care of, at least Professor Weasley recovered."

"Were you there when he…?"

"Yeah. I was there." Draco smiled a bit at that. "So was Ginny, I mean, Ginevra."

"Ginny, is it?" Pansy echoed, raising an eyebrow. "After fighting with her so much while you were part of the Ourea, you're on a nickname basis with her now, Draco?"

"She visited the hospital every day," the boy protested, somewhat defensively. "Besides, it would be confusing if I just kept calling her Weasley, when there are so many other Weasleys."

"Heh. That much is true."

"They were nice, her visits. They made St. Mungo's seem a lot less grim, even if we mostly talked about her father."

"You probably kept her from falling into despair, you know," Pansy commented. "Having someone who knew what was happening, and who was there – even if there wasn't much you could do."

"Mm. I remember how happy she was when her father finally woke up," Draco murmured absently. "The way she smiled – the way her face lit up…it was the most beautiful thing in the world."

Pansy blinked at Draco's words…and the boy's eyes went wide as his mind caught up to his lips and he realized exactly what he'd said.

"I, uh, that wasn't what it sounded like," he backpedaled, looking very much like a cornered animal. "I just mean that…"

"Don't justify yourself to me, Malfoy," Pansy interrupted, leaning forward and silencing him by putting a finger to his lips. "It's not my business who you fall for."

Draco reddened and flinched backward, turning his face away as he looked out at the quickly passing countryside.

"I thought your business was finding out everyone's business," he muttered sourly, crossing his arms. "Wasn't that why you were picked for the Ourea to begin with?"

"I tend to be concerned with things more important than your love life. You're not the center of the world, Malfoy."

"…true," the boy conceded, seeming truly put upon as he turned back to his companion. "I'm not, I suppose. Speaking of the world…"

"Yes?"

"Do you know anything about Durmstrang?" Draco asked, genuinely curious. "Since we're going to be spending most of the year there, I thought it would be good to know something about it."

"You mean other than the fact it's well known for teaching the Dark Arts, and that Grindelwald went there."

"Other than that, Parkinson," the boy drawled. "Father wanted me to send me there for schooling, so I know _that_ much."

"Oh? So if your father wanted you there, why weren't—"

"Mother," Draco interjected tersely, his body visibly tensing, before he forced himself to relax. "She wanted me closer to home," he explained.

"I see. Sorry."

"Don't be," the boy said, waving his hand dismissively. "So, did you learn anything about it?"

"Not much more than you know," Pansy commented. "I know who their Potions Champion is, and that they've never won a single Tri-Wizard Tournament, but other than that? I couldn't begin to say."

Draco was about to reply when a knocking sounded at the compartment door, with Pansy looking over curiously and wondering who this might be.

"Come in," she said, as the door slid open, revealing a young girl wearing a pale silver dress, with waist-length, dirty blonde hair, very pale eyebrows, eerie silvery eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look, a wand tucked behind her ear and a fox perched upon her head.

Without another word, Luna Lovegood – the youngest of the Stone Cutters, and considered the most enigmatic member of the group (even more so than Matou Shinji) – walked in, closed the door behind her, and sat down beside Pansy, opening up a book on _youkai_.

"Hullo," she said dreamily, her silvery eyes looking over both of them as if she could see into the secrets they held. "Pansy Parkinson. Draco Malfoy."

"Lovegood," Pansy responded, with a nod. She knew, from the last _Kobayashi Maru_ , that the girl was capable of far more than she let on, most of the time, but then, that was natural for a Stone Cutter. "I'm surprised you're not with Matou today."

The two _were_ known to spend quite a bit of time together, after all, with the exact nature of their relationship a subject of much speculation.

"He's not here," Luna noted absently. "Won't be, till Halloween."

"Oh?" Pansy asked.

"…ah, that's right, he _is_ a foreigner, and with the restrictions…" Draco noted, his eyebrows knitting together as he considered the ramifications of this. "But isn't he the Hogwarts Potions Champion? Wouldn't the Ministry offer him British citizenship?"

"They did," Luna replied in her sing-song voice. "But he said no."

"Huh," Draco said, nonplussed. "I…see." He supposed he hadn't heard about this turn of events mostly because it would be an embarrassment for Britain if it was known that their Champion had turned down citizenship. "But how do you know about this, Lovegood?" he asked curiously.

"Dad and I travel," the girl answered simply enough, a secret, dreamy smile playing across her lips. "Matou and I ran into each other during my travels."

"Anywhere interesting?" Pansy broke in. "I did a bit of travelling myself, so…"

"Tahiti."

"…never heard of it," the Slytherin girl noted. "It's not…in Africa or South America or something, is it?"

"It's an island in the Pacific."

While Lockhart's teaching had been comprehensive in some ways, the geography of the Pacific had unfortunately not been part of it, given that neither the Assassins nor the Templars really operated there. He had been much more focused on Eurasia, given that North America was the domain of the Illuminati, among others…

"I see," Pansy managed. "Must have been nice."

"It was."

Luna went quiet after that, turning back to her book, but neither Pansy nor Draco were about to let such a potentially valuable source of information get away from them.

"I heard the other Stone Cutters were in Japan this year, learning the arts of the East," Draco commented, trying to make conversation. "Anything you can tell us about that? Aside from the obvious, like the fact that a Weasley will probably be the Hogwarts Tri-Wizard Champion?"

The boy paused as he reflected on what he'd just said.

"You know, three years ago, I wouldn't have believed that was possible."

"Things change," Pansy said.

"Or people do."

"Or that, yes," the Slytherin girl allowed, eyeing the enigmatic Ravenclaw who sat beside her. "Though I like to think that it's as much one as the other. Or that some of us just keep parts of ourselves hidden. Anyway, any thoughts, Lovegood?"

"I can't say," Luna replied softly. "After all, I wasn't there."

"I suppose you weren't," Pansy allowed. "Though, I am curious, why join us, instead of the other Stone Cutters or someone else?"

"Ginny wanted to see her brothers, and Harry is with Miss Greengrass," Luna answered. "And I don't know most other people that well. The Ourea…"

"…yeah, that's something else entirely," Pansy noted. There were so many among their ranks that had fallen – very few remained of the original group now. She turned to Draco, a wry expression on her face. "With everything that's happened, who knows, we might even invite you to join us again."

She was half-joking, but only half.

"…tempting. But we'll see, Parkinson," Draco replied in all seriousness. "I'm not even sure Durmstrang would allow us to run such an organization there anyway, so it would have to wait until next year."

OWL year, which under the new legislation, would be the last year of schooling before one either joined the army or learned a trade.

"Speaking of next year…will you join up when you graduate, do you think?" Pansy asked him. "The army, I mean."

"…I don't know," the boy said honestly. "I think I much prefer putting people back together to taking them apart."

"It's the same for me," Luna commented, with Draco's head snapping up and around at her words, while Pansy simply nodded, as she remembered the _Kobayashi Maru_.

"You know healing magic?" Draco asked, more shocked than surprised, as healing spells were said to be quite difficult. Even during his time at St. Mungo's, he'd not learned any, as he had been an orderly, not a mediwizard or a Healer. "Would you…would you be willing to teach me?"

Pansy raised an eyebrow at this.

"I would find that useful as well, actually," she interjected. After all, in her new life, it might be useful to heal as well as hurt.

"Mm, it would be good to have a sparring partner in the mornings," Luna murmured dreamily.

"You don't spar with the other Stone Cutters?" Pansy inquired, curious as to the dynamics of the mysterious organization. On the surface, they seemed united, but underneath…

"Only sometimes," Luna answered. "They're often busy."

"Hm. Interesting," Pansy noted. "Well, I suppose I wouldn't mind being your sparring partner. Can't be a bad thing to learn from a Stone Cutter, kind of like you learned from Matou, right?"

"Mm."

"It must be difficult, without him here," the Slytherin girl continued.

"What do you mean?" the Ravenclaw questioned, her silvery eyes focused wholly on Pansy – which the older girl found slightly unnerving.

"With you two being lovers, I mean," the Slytherin girl clarified, thinking out loud. "Not being to see each other for months, and now not even being able to mail each other or communicate at all, with the restrictions on foreigners. Missing someone that much, without being able to see them, hear them, to know they're alright…frankly, I don't know if I could do that."

"We manage," was all Luna said in reply.

"Better you than me, Lovegood. Better you than me."

* * *

Back in _Mahoutokoro_ , Matou Shinji watched as the sun rose upon a new day. His fellow Stone Cutters had departed for Britain the night before, and were surely off at Hogwarts already, and while he would be spending the next two months in the City Beneath the Earth, he didn't find it much of a trial.

After all, in this place of power, he had the opportunity to learn more of the arts of his homeland from people like Sayjou Ayaka and Kaiduka Shiosai, the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ and the old _kitsune_ who served as her master. And it wasn't as if he was forced to spend every waking moment in the city – after all, thanks to his purchases the year before, he had a network of Vanishing Cabinets set up – with one connecting his British Estate to _Mahoutokoro_.

…which meant that he could check in on Tohsaka and see how she was doing, as well as meet with Luna and spend time with her on the weekends, as they'd agreed.

' _It will be a long few months, but I will make the most of it. This is the path I have chosen, and I will walk it to the end.'_

* * *

When they arrived at Hogwarts, Harry was somewhat surprised to see an escort of Aurors waiting for him, but he supposed he shouldn't be. After all, he had chosen to become Britain's Youth Representative, and the people here – students and recruits alike – looked to him as both an inspiration and a pillar of strength in these uncertain times.

He could feel it in the air around him: people were scared by what had happened, shaken by the death and suffering and loss unlike anything they'd ever known.

There had been too many lost friends, too many buried family members, too many empty chairs and empty tables, where youths would dream no more.

When they arrived in the Great Hall, he was asked to make an impromptu speech – something he hadn't expected, but really should have. This much he could not refuse, as both the Boy-Who-Lived and the British Youth Representative.

With all eyes upon him as he walked to the front of the Hall, he wondered what should he say? And really, if anything he said would be enough to reach the hearts of people lost to grief and anger.

Taking a deep breath, he looked over the crowd, catching the eyes of his brothers in arms, of Gilderoy Lockhart, of his girlfriend, and the others who looked to him expectantly, taking comfort in the fact that he – their symbol that everything would be alright – was among them again.

They needed him. Needed someone to look to.

And he would become that someone, as he had promised to, long ago.

"You all know my legend. The legend of the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry began, his green eyes meeting the gazes of those in the vast multitude. "You've heard of how I fought off a Dark Wizard my first year, and how I stopped You-Know-Who when I was only a year old. But tonight, I don't stand before you as the Boy-Who-Lived. I don't stand before you as a hero who can set everything right, or a champion who can fight in your place. I stand before you as one of you – someone as scared and angry and desperate for answers as any one of you, someone who wants nothing more than for everything to be alright, just as I was when I fought the troll during my first year at Hogwarts."

A hush fell upon the crowd as Harry brought up the incident that had made the Stone Cutters what they were – that to them, simply reaffirmed that the Boy-Who-Lived and his peers were above them,

"That night, I was scared – more than I had ever been in my life. And I'll be honest, there's a part of me that wanted nothing more than to run away, because I didn't think I could win. Not with the skills of a first year, or even some of the Eastern Arts. Not with every skill I had. But I fought anyway."

He paused, noting in the back of his mind that he had the full attention of the audience.

"I didn't fight because I wasn't afraid. I fought because I _was_ afraid. Because that Halloween, I thought I was about to lose everything I cared about _again._ Yes. night Voldemort died was the night my parents were taken from me. The night I became an orphan and my godfather was unjustly imprisoned in Azakaban. The night you celebrate was the worst night of my life. On Halloween of my first year, I thought it was going to happen again – and I didn't want to be the Boy-Who-Lived if it meant everyone around me would die."

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.

"And so I fought – and I survived. No, not because of my power, or because I was somehow destined for greatness, even if my wand shares a core with that of You-Know-Who. I survived because there were others with me who were also afraid – but who were willing to look past their fear so no one else would have to die."

"Robert, Fred, George, Shinji – none of us _had_ to fight the troll. Any of us could have chosen to run – to leave, to let fear stop us, but instead we stood with each other, placing our trust in one another as comrades. As brothers-in-arms. Alone, we might have survived, but survival wasn't enough – we wanted more than survival. We wanted victory."

"You know what happened next. We beat the troll. We became the Stone Cutters."

"But the story doesn't end there. Tonight I stand before you, and once again, I'm afraid. Tonight what looms over us seems as big and vast and deadly as a troll did to a first year. And tonight we have a choice: to run away and hope we survive, or to stand and fight together as comrades – as brothers-in-arms – as heroes. We have a choice to give in to the hurt and loss and fear, or to stand together and fight it with every breath we have, every drop of magic inside of us, pushing back the darkness so that not one more innocent will be forced to die. Together, we can do more than survive – we can win. Wizards. Witches. Comrades. Are you with me?"

The answering roar was deafening, with nearly every person in the Great Hall surging to their feet – students and recruits immediately, the Aurors and Hit-Wizards next, and staff last of all, for they knew things were not so cut and dry.

' _Malfoy was one thing. But I did not expect Mister Potter to join in,'_ the Deputy Headmistress thought with a heavy heart, knowing how many would be swayed by the earnest words of the Boy-Who-Lived. _'And so a generation is lost to war, and our way of life dies. To thunderous applause…'_


	17. Shadow of Intent

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 17.** _Shadow of Intent_

" _ **Kai!"**_

Shinji barely managed to throw himself aside as dozens of golden chains tore through the space his body had occupied only moments earlier. Acting more on instinct than on any grand strategy, he pulsed his prana, activating two of the elemental _ofuda_ he'd applied to his boots.

With activation of the first, a water-elemental talisman, a thick black mist rose from the ground to fill the air, concealing the boy from sight. It didn't last, of course, as only moments later, silver streaks shot deep into the mist and erupted into a blaze of light that burned away it all away, but by that time, Matou Shinji was gone.

' _Damn,'_ the boy thought from his hiding spot only a meter or two beneath the earth. His second activated ofuda – a paper talisman of the earth-elemental variety – had allowed him to sink into the ground, buying himself a moment's respite from his opponent's vicious assault. _'I underestimated Fujou. Badly. I should have known better, since he was the Magus Killer's son…'_

Still, he was alive and relatively unharmed, which meant the fight was far from over.

' _I can still win this.'_

Or at least, the boy thought, as he let his consciousness expand, with the prana he'd infused into the ground becoming an extension of his senses that let him "see" what was happening on the surface.

From what he could tell, the chains had dissipated, losing cohesion without a target to focus on, with his opponent, the head of the Fujou clan, confused at his sudden disappearance, trying to discern with his eyes if Shinji had simply gone invisible.

' _Or perhaps, if like George, I have shifted into a spirit form and have somehow managed to hide my presence.'_

Not that Shinji had any abilities that were quite so grand, on the surface of things. He had, however, leaned about the Fujou family's innate ability to sense flows and concentrations of prana – and individual prana signatures – and as such, his strategy was designed to nullify that ability.

' _From the beginning of the match, I have been scattering earth-elemental ofuda throughout the field, infusing the ground with my prana for future use…and to get Fujou Shiroe to let down his guard.'_

Shinji imagined that his adversary would be wary of foreign prana leeching into his surroundings, but that as time passed, and the prana seemed to be innocuous, without any attempt on Shinji's part to use it offensively whatsoever, Shiroe would simply dismiss what Matou was doing as an effort to blind his senses, and so would put what was happening to the ground out of mind – unless there was some surge that indicated an imminent attack.

…all of which played perfectly into Shinji's plan, as it meant that if he needed a moment to gather his thoughts, out of his opponent's immediate reach, he would have one. As long as he was still and made no preparations to attack, his opponent's senses would simply ignore him…

' _The moment I do, however…the battle will resume. Still, for now, I know exactly where he is, and he has no idea of where I am.'_

To some, that would be an overwhelming advantage, but Shinji needed such an advantage to counter the Fujou head's innate abilities. After all, he was merely a practitioner of witchcraft facing off against a magus from an ancient lineage – one whose arts specialized in defeating demons and other inhuman enemies.

' _Worst of all from my perspective, is his metal affinity and his ability to_ 'forge' _blades and arrows of exorcism that can destroy_ ofuda _without activating their effects, or dispel something like my Dark Mist.'_

Matou Shinji had learned about that ability at the start of the match, when Shiroe had simply sliced a number of explosive _ofuda_ out of the air with conjured blades, with the talismans failing to activate. Of course, the demon hunter had been just as surprised when his own volley of conjured silver arrows had simply been erased from existence by Shinji's untransfiguration abilities.

For a demon hunter, what was imbued could be negated.

For Shinji, what was conjured could be unmade.

And so the two had been circled each other warily after that initial exchange, given that they'd never had each other's abilities countered so directly.

They'd each launched a few probing attacks at the other after that, with their _ofuda_ and arrows mostly seeming to go wide of the their respective targets, though the few that did not forced each of them to defend in earnest, lest whatever unknown abilities they held come into play.

Neither had accounted for the effects of those that "missed", however, which was how Shinji had imbued the earth with his prana…and how Shiroe had set up an attack with dozens of golden chains erupting from his fallen arrows.

…an attack that Matou Shinji had only barely avoided.

' _Compared to his arrows, those chains are on a whole other level,'_ he thought, lips curving into a frown in the darkness. _'Though I suppose the same is true for my ofuda – Fujou would find it difficult to stop an explosion, but the talismans themselves are another matter.'_

And since Fujou Shiroe was using physical attacks to disrupt the _ofuda,_ it wasn't as if advanced sealing arts – the likes of which advanced practitioners like Tsuchimikado-san used – would be of much help, as they were only absolute proof against magical attacks without much substance. Those alone could not stop a physical blow.

' _On the other hand, his projectiles and blades are all conjured, so I can presumably disrupt their existence with untransfiguration…'_

Save of course, that the Fujou head always carried his _hama yumi_ ("evil destroying bow") with him, and while he did, it was…difficult, at best, for Shinji to influence anything his opponent was touching.

' _Not to mention that simple binding and sealing attacks won't work on him. Still, he isn't the only magically resistant foe I've faced, so here goes nothing!'_

With a surge of prana, Matou Shinji exploded from the ground, launching a flurry of _ofuda_ at the head of the Fujou. Fujou Shiroe raised his swords to counter the onslaught, but to no avail, as _these_ _ofuda—_

' _Whump-BOOM!'_

—erupted into light and sound just out of his range.

Fujou Shiroe was only blinded for a moment, but a moment was all Shinji needed to unleash his true attack, as sharpened spikes of stone coated with darkness exploded from the earth, surging towards the demon hunter from all directions, with no escape but flight.

…and Matou Shinji knew perfectly well that his opponent couldn't fly.

' _Checkmate,'_ he thought, his lips beginning to curve up into a vicious grin as his attack connected…only to freeze at an unexpected _clang,_ like rock striking metal, and a pillar of dust rose into the air. _'Wait. What.'_

When the dust cleared, Shinji's expression became a full on scowl as he saw that his opponent was completely unharmed, with the demon hunter's form hidden behind a barrier wrought of shining golden chains.

' _What? But…how?'_

His swords, Shinji realized. That had to be it. It wasn't just arrows that the Fujou head could transform into chains, though those did seem to be Shiroe's primary offensive ability. Even the boy's blades could become chains – and more to the point, the golden chains weren't just an overwhelming attack.

They were also a supreme defense – an expression of spirit and technique, flawless and firm.

"When you vanished from sight, I thought you might be planning something, Matou," Shiroe said quietly, his voice pitched to carry above the buzzing of his fading chain barrier, with his bow coming to hand. "It seems I was right."

"Tch!" Shinji muttered, retreating from his foe's position and willing his wand to become a staff in his hands, all the better to deflect any incoming projectiles. "This isn't over yet, Fujou!"

But Fujou Shiroe only chuckled, even as he idly wondered what other tricks his opponent had up his sleeves.

"Given what Kaiduka has said about you, I'd be rather disappointed if it was," he said with a grim smile, his bow thrumming once-twice-thrice, as he launched a trio of silver arrows towards the Matou scion, who, knowing that even a fallen arrow could be a threat, was forced to erase them with his corrosive untransfiguration ability. "Now this is interesting."

"That as long as we keep this up, I can't touch you, and you can't touch me?" Shinji shot back, a number of _ofuda_ racing from his sleeves around the other's proud form, where – unwilling to take chances, or allow his opponent to send prana into the earth once more, Fujou Shiroe shot them out of the air with silver projectiles, forbidding their activation.

"Something like that," Shiroe admitted, as he and Matou Shinji began to move once more, circling one another to be sure neither achieved a positional advantage. "We're back to the beginning, it seems. My arrows against your _ofuda_. My blades against your staff."

"Indeed," Shinji conceded with a nod. "Frustrating, isn't it?"

"No. You'll fall eventually."

"Oh really?" the Matou scion inquired, raising an eyebrow. "In addition to my innate abilities, I've prepared a large store of _ofuda_ ahead of time, while everything you do draws from your prana reserves. To win, all I have to do is drain you dry."

"Heh." Fujou Shiroe's lips curved into a dangerous smile as he confronted his wily foe. In some ways, Matou Shinji was indeed the most frustrating opponent he'd met, given just how different their styles were, and how cocky the other boy could be. On the other hand, he couldn't deny the wakame-headed boy was skilled, which meant he had to attack with his full force. "You can try Matou. But I have to ask…"

"Yes?"

"….do you have enough _ofuda_ in stock?"

Whatever Shinji was about to say died on his lips, as, concentrating harder than he'd ever done, the demon hunter reached inside himself and brought his vision into reality, as one-two-ten-no-dozens of silver projectiles materialized behind him in a glittering array.

And this time, when his bowstring thrummed, the unbroken wall of silver shot forward all at once, seeking to skewer his opponent's form!

' _Shit.'_

* * *

Things were rather less violent at the Clock Tower, given that something as crude as physical – or magical – violence had no place in the Tower's administration building – a rule that was surprisingly respected by all who came to pay a visit to a Lord or Director or such.

Even when the visitor was one Aozaki Touko, a rather notorious former member of the Tower, who was visiting the successor to an old benefactor.

"Lord El Melloi," she greeted formally, as she was ushered into the man's office, where she took note of how it had changed since she'd come here last. And there were certainly some changes, as the current occupant's tastes were quite different from that of his predecessor, if the copious amounts of game merchandise, was any indication, though the perpetually annoyed expression on his face at least seemed amusing.

"…the second," Waver Velvet groused, without looking up from what was entirely too much paperwork for his liking, which to be frank, was about the amount he had to deal with every day, what with administrative affairs, factional disputes and of course, assignments to mark and lectures to prepare. "El Melloi II."

"A bit grating to be called that, Lord _El Melloi_?" the puppeteer inquired, shrugging as she lit one of her cheap Taiwanese cigarettes and took a long drag.

"Unbearably so," the long-suffering man admitted as he looked up to see who dared such rudeness—and on recognizing the person standing before his desk, almost immediately regretted doing so. It was well known in the Tower that a visit from either Aozaki sister was a sign of trouble – especially if the other caught wind of it. Best to get this over with as soon as possible, then. "…Aozaki Touko. To what do I owe the…pleasure?"

"It concerns one of your students, El Melloi," Touko noted idly, as her eyes fell upon the very feminine figure of a liquid metal automaton in a maid outfit sitting idle in the corner. "Fascinating. I have not encountered a design like this before. An improvement on Volumen Hydrargyrum, I assume?"

"…ah, yes," Waver noted, shaking his head. He should have expected that the elder Aozaki – as the world's leading puppetmaster – would have recognized what was sitting in his office. "Trimmau is…a project I'm working on." Or rather, one that Reines El-Melloi Archisorte was working on, with his guidance, though that wasn't exactly public knowledge. "Back to business, however…which of my students does this concern?"

It rather irritated him when he had to deal with issues concerning them, given that he would much prefer to focus on improving his own magecraft – an area in which he had unfortunately seen no progress in the last few years, as he was still stuck at the fourth tier. He acknowledged that he was skilled as a professor, but this whole business of being forced to look after other people who couldn't take responsibility for their own lives was codswallop.

' _I swear, if Flat Escardos has done something to_ _offend Aozaki Touko, or worse, the Director of Atlas…'_

…well, the result wouldn't bear thinking about, for even if Escardos was his most technically skilled student, the man caused no end of trouble, as he lacked intelligence and common sense. Indeed, only the word imbecile could sum up his student's character.

Focused as he was on the failings of his most wayward student, however, the redhead's answer caught him off guard.

"Tohsaka Rin," Touko said grimly. "I believe you are listed as her sponsor, and as such are technically responsible for her studies."

"Technically," Waver conceded, taken slightly aback that anyone would be concerned about the Tohsaka heiress. "A mere formality. Her status as Second Owner entitles her to study at the Tower, and no other professor wanted to be troubled by dealing with a Ja—with overseeing her academic career."

Aozaki Touko remained silent for a time after Lord El Melloi II's statement, only taking another long drag on her cigarette, exhaling the smoke in his direction.

"Well, if she is that much trouble, you won't mind if I take her off your hands then," the puppetmaster observed. The sheer certainty in her voice caused both of Lord's eyebrows to shoot towards his hairline, as he wondered what she was up to. "I do have a use for her, after all."

"What kind of use, if I might ask?" the man inquired, his eyes narrowing. As with any powerful magus, there were… _rumors_ about Aozaki Touko that were less than savory, with one in particular mentioning how she kidnapped powerful magi, trapped them in lotus eater style illusions and stole their Magic Crests for her own use.

"It's not particularly your concern, but I find myself in need of a new apprentice."

"A new…" Waver began, but trailed off, remembering the incident that had happened in Fuyuki some time ago. "Ah yes, my condolences on that."

From the reports that had crossed his desk, the Matou family had been wiped out in a swift, brutal onslaught that was suspected to be the work of the Einzbern, with every living member hunted down and killed, and their assets in Fuyuki reduced to cinders.

And of course, with Aozaki Touko's former – her _late_ apprentice – being Matou Shinji, he supposed he should have realized she needed a new student. Though the fact that she was proposing to take the sole remaining representative of the Three Founding Families as her apprentice was troubling in its own way, given what the presence of the Matou and Einzbern at the winter gala had implied about a Grail War coming sooner than usual.

"Things happen," the Aozaki magus said philosophically. "For better or for worse."

Waver sighed, given the nature of that decided non-response. While he supposed the puppeteer had never been that fond of other humans, he wanted more information before he handed over responsibility of Tohsaka Rin to the enigmatic puppeteer standing before him. After all, even if it was just a technicality, he was still in charge of her well-being – and he had certain concerns about what she might be able to do with puppets wrought based on Matou and Tohsaka, if she was still interested in the Root.

"Indulge me for a moment, Miss Aozaki," the man stated, trying his best to school his features into an innocently curious mask – though given that the person facing him was a master puppeteer, and that his usual expression was one of irritation – it seemed profoundly unnatural. "Why this girl?"

"It was my former apprentice's last request."

Of the many possible responses that Lord El Melloi II expected Aozaki Touko to give, with some possibilities being a mere expression of self-interest, a statement that it was really none of his business, or that the Director of Atlas had requested it, what she actually said was not even on the list.

"Come again?" Waver asked, not quite believing his ears.

"I believe you heard me the first time, El Melloi, unless you are as hard of hearing as Matou was?" the woman inquired, raising an eyebrow as she _looked_ at him, her gaze harsh and withering. For a moment, it was as if he was standing before Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, with the lecturer just having torn up the manuscript on how a mage could increase his or her power through effort, experience, and knowledge, instead of simply through lineage.

He shook his head, dismissing the shades of all those years ago as he looked, really _looked_ , at the puppeteer before him.

…now that he actually thought about it, Aozaki Touko herself the ur-example of his thesis, given that, as far as he knew, aside from her Magic Circuits, her varied abilities weren't those passed on through her family's Crest (given that it was Aozaki _Aoko_ who held the Crest), or those she'd been born with, but things she'd cultivated herself.

"I didn't take you for the sentimental sort," Waver said at last.

"I'm not, as a rule," Touko noted coolly. "Still, I try not to ignore last requests. No matter how troublesome." The redhead grimaced, shaking her head. "In many ways, I would prefer not to train the Tohsaka heiress. Scions to powerful families are generally set in their ways and not very open to new ideas. Nor are they even very interesting." She shrugged, taking another long drag. "But Matou asked, and so here I am."

El Melloi II blinked.

"And this has nothing to do with the Holy Grail War?" he commented archly, raising an eyebrow.

"Heh. Even if I still wanted to reach the Root, I wouldn't do it through some shortcut," Touko replied, crossing her arms. "Besides, even if I was interested, what use would the Tohsaka heiress be to me when that ritual is still decades away, at best?"

"…a fair point," Waver noted, rising from his desk at last, though he deliberately turned away from the Japanese magus and walked over to the dormant automaton in the corner of the room. "I can't deny that I would prefer to be rid of the responsibility of dealing with quite possibly the worst Japanese I have ever met." Then he straightened, turning to look at the puppeteer once more. "As unwillingly as the responsibility came to me though, I am still her sponsor, and from what I know, you are often…away."

"I can't deny that," the Aozaki puppeteer admitted. "I do often have business…elsewhere."

"Right. Thus, I must ask, how would what you are proposing be any better than her current situation?" the man questioned. "After all, given your disappearances, you would not around enough to give her a solid grounding in whatever arts you intend to teach her, would you?"

"Oh, that matter." Touko brushed off Lord El Melloi II's concerns dismissively. "If you would feel better leaving her well-being to someone more local, I do have someone in mind."

Despite himself, Waver found himself somewhat curious, given how many others had turned down sponsorship of the Tohsaka heiress.

"…and who might that be?"

"An old friend of mine," the puppeteer intoned. "Lev Uvall."

"The Director of Archaeology, or Universal Research," Waver filled in, one of his hands rising to rub his temples. He knew of the young prodigy, of course, as Lev had reached the Fourth Rank – the same one he himself had been stuck in for years – at the tender age of 20. "I suppose that would be a better place for her than the Tower proper."

"You will accept my request then?" Aozaki Touko questioned.

Lord El Melloi II sighed.

"…against my better judgement, yes, I think I will," the man replied, shaking his head. "I have enough to worry about without dealing with someone who has no aptitude for what I have to teach. I'll have the transfer paperwork filled out by the end of today."

"Thank you," the puppeteer said with a nod.

Moments later, she was gone, leaving El Melloi II alone with his thoughts.

* * *

With a muffled gasp, Matou Shinji awakened into a world of pain, with no part of him spared or untouched. His ears rang, his vision was a blur, and hurt radiated from every part of his body – a hurt born of utter exhaustion.

He could dimly discern something moving above him, a light against the darkness of the world, and as it passed over him, he could feel his pain beginning to fade.

"Excessive," were the first words he properly discerned, with his vision clearing up to reveal the figure of a bespectacled young woman kneeling over his supine form, her black hair falling like silk about her shoulders, as her hands glowed with warm amber light. "Both of you."

Sajyou Ayaka, the apprentice to the five-tailed _kitsune_ Kaiduka Shiosai, and Champion of _Mahoutokoro_.

"…excessive?" Shinji managed to croak, though her last comment threw him. "Both? What…do you…right." Then he remembered. He'd been sparring with Fujou Shiroe, with the two of them throwing everything they had against one another, as neither was willing to just give up. "Who…won?"

"…" The raven-haired girl seemed to glare at him for a moment, then shook her head with a long-suffering sigh.

"What?" he asked. "I want to know."

To Shinji, it seemed as if Sajyou-san needed a moment to collect herself, though her eyes betrayed her utter contempt of the question he asked.

"Neither," she replied eventually.

"Huh?"

"You and Fujou defeated each other," the young woman related simply. "Not through injuring each other, but by forcing each other to collapse from prana depletion. Given his natural advantages, I am…surprised you managed that much, especially without fusion."

"…it's not about how much power you have. But how you use it," Shinji groaned, taking a deep breath as the aches in his chest faded. "He may..." He paused, a brittle smile flitting across his lips. "No, he does have more raw power. He's a magus, after all, which means if he's using his circuits, my spells of binding and sealing can't affect him. Still…" The boy sighed. "I'm a bit more experienced."

"Indeed. Despite his power and unusual affinities, the Fujou heir has not seen the grim reality of battle," Sajyou Ayaka noted, her eyes far away for a moment. "Not beyond Aokigahara."

A chill went down Shinji's spine as he realized something – something important.

"…you have, haven't you?" he asked quietly, his grey eyes meeting her blue.

"Yes."

"…I'm sorry."

"It is nothing to apologize for," the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ said calmly as she looked away and rose to her feet. "The past is simply what has been, what has made us who we are. But our futures have yet to be written, and it is our choices and actions that determine who we will become." She paused for a few seconds, as if considering something. "You have something that drives you, Matou. A secret you keep from everyone but yourself. Something you will never betray, no matter the cost."

"I do," the boy admitted, swallowing at how easily Sajyou-san saw through him. "I do…have a dream. And to reach that dream…" _'I would give…anything.'_

A heavy silence lingered between them for a time, one that seemed almost oppressive to the boy – before the elder Champion spoke again.

"Perhaps I was wrong about you," Ayaka murmured, almost too softly for him to hear.

"Hm?"

"Become strong, Matou Shinji," the girl spoke as she walked away, the fabric of her midnight-blue yutaka swaying behind her. "Strong enough to reach the hand you seek to grasp."

Shinji stiffened at her words, but before he could question her further, she was gone.

Truly, there was much he had to learn, but if she and Kaiduka were teaching him, and sparring with Shiroe pushed him to his limits, he would certainly improve.

Though whether he could reach the level of Sajyou-san, who was powerful enough that even a Tsuchimikado looked up to her, powerful enough that she could spar evenly with one of the most powerful _youkai_ in all of _Mahoutokoro,_ remained to be seen.

'… _at least I have a goal,'_ he thought to himself as he rose to his feet and brushed himself off, with his stomach gurgling as he did so. _'First things first, I suppose. Let's get something to eat. And then, just a few more days till I visit London once again...'_

* * *

In the dank darkness of the cavern beneath Ryuudou Temple, in the very center of the magic circle that was the Greater Grail, a wriggling mass stirred, as mud and rot and darkness, came together in the vague shape of a man who had forgotten everything else but his desire to live.

It was an incredibly slow process, slow enough that a human being would easily dismiss any hint of movement as an illusion, a trick of the eye, but little by little, pain and death and fear began to congeal into a living form.

First, the mixture formed the shell – a shadow-like void with rudiments of feet, fingers, skin. And then the shell was filled, with a foul mass of worms and mud becoming imitation musculature and nerves, and more becoming the very organs of this mishmash creature that didn't even remember what it was to be human, a mockery of humanity whose features slowly became recognizable as those of Matou Zouken, the patriarch of the fallen Matou family – a family that had lost everything.

…no, which had everything stolen from them.

' _Betrayal.'_

Yes, that was right. He had been betrayed. Betrayed by his own flesh and blood. Betrayed by his old allies.

The ungrateful child of the Makiri had walked into his house, spitting defiance in his face, threatening to destroy everything the family had worked for. The child had spurned his offer of peace, had cast aside mercy and dared to raise his hand against those who had given him everything. Who would have given him everything.

And in his wake had come the destroyers.

He knew their name. Their shape. Their purpose.

Einzbern.

A name born of desperation. A name that was no true name. A name for those who had forgotten and been forgotten.

A name for those stuck ever in the past, willing to give anything to restore their past glory.

They had come. They had destroyed. They had slain.

With fire and steel, with spell and sword they had come, invading another's land to cut him down – to cut down his heir – to destroy everything that had once been his, cutting short half a millennia of devotion.

He was dead.

He knew it.

He could feel it in his soul that the existence once called Matou Zouken was gone, that though he shared the memories of the being, something else walked in his place – something connected to the world, something filled to bursting with prana and might.

Even now, the features of the being were shifting, becoming younger, younger, younger still, erasing the lines and cares of centuries until what opened it eyes would have been recognizable to those who known Makar Zolgen in his youth.

The pain sustained him. The hate sustained him. The darkness sustained him, granting his deepest – last – wish, as something new was born.

The creature laughed.

He laughed.

It laughed.

A laugh born of madness. A laugh born of terror. A laugh born of realization and irony.

For irony it was that he who had once sought to eliminate all of the evils of the world, to lay down his life to bring peace to all things, should be reborn as one who embodied the evil of all existence, animated by billions of living curses, by hatred of the world, by sin.

"I…" he spoke quietly, once the laughter had ceased. "I am…" He paused, sucking in the decay ridden air as if it was the sweetest thing he had ever known in his life. "…vengeance." But he shook his head, as that wasn't quite right. "No," the creature that had once been Matou Zouken said with grim satisfaction. "I am…. _ **Avenger**_."


	18. Forgotten Places

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 18.** _Forgotten Places_

Unlike in years past, this year, Matou Shinji could not be said to have a day to day routine while at in Japan, mostly due to the fact that what he was doing varied greatly from one day to the next. Indeed, most of the time, he wasn't even at _Mahoutokoro!_ When he was, Kaiduka, the Maiden of the Tree's familiar, generally oversaw his training, working with him on refining his magical abilities – mostly in _ofuda-_ based combat and elemental manipulation – and his physical alike through standalone drills and spars against a variety of opponents at or above his level, with the Fujou heir being one of his more frequent opponents.

This exposure to so many different arts and styles of battle forced the Matou boy to improve and adapt at a rather rapid rate, as the consequences of failing to do would be both pointed and painful. After all, his opponents – others that the _kitsune_ hadagreed to train for a short time – numbered among the most skilled youths of their class, and like him, knew that failing to live up to Kaiduka's expectations would quickly result in their lessons being discontinued – something that none of those who had been chosen by the fox were willing to chance.

After all, beyond whatever influence he held as one of the oldest and most powerful _youkai_ in _Mahoutokoro_ and as Matsuo Hijiri's right hand, he was also known to be _the one who had taught her_ , as well as for helping to establish the City Beneath the Earth in its current form. And so a few hoped that he might take one of them as his disciple – much as he had done with Sajyou Ayaka, the girl who had bested all others to become Champion of _Mahoutokoro_.

(Some of the more foolish young members of the City's most influential families, jealous of a newcomer, and relative unknown, being chosen as the _kitsune'_ s disciple, had challenged her to duels over the years, seeking to humiliate her and prove to others in the City that she was unworthy of her position. These attempts had…failed rather spectacularly, with the result being that even the heiress of the powerful Tsuchimikado family, a descendant of Abe no Seimei himself, treated her with the utmost respect, referring to her as "Sajyou-sama.")

It was in the company of the _kitsune_ 's disciple that Matou Shinji spent the remainder of his weeks, barring weekends, with the exact nature of their exercises varying week by week. One week might find him out in the wilds of _Shiretoko,_ improving his foraging and working on his brewing while being harassed by forest spirits. Another would have him in _Aokigahara_ without any supplies except a packet of blank _ofuda_ paper and his new wand-staff, with his goal to gather certain items, brew the best potion he could, and proceed to the extraction point – while constantly dealing with _onryō_ and the oppressive nature of the suicide forest. In a third, he might be facing down Sajyou-san – or her familiar – in combat while exhausted after a day spent free-climbing one of the tallest mountains in Japan.

And so it went, with week after week proving to be more grueling than anything the boy had ever experienced in his short life.

Fortunately for Matou Shinji's health and sanity, however, both Kaiduka and his apprentice had a number of other claims on their time, with the _kitsune_ training others and Sajyou-san needing to review the _Book of Potions_ in more detail, meaning that he effectively had the weekends free for what his instructors called "self-guided improvement."

…weekends that he spent as far away from _Mahoutokoro_ as he could, with the boy taking advantage of the Vanishing Cabinet connection that he had set up between his manor and Aozaki Touko's workshop to visit London and spend time with Luna.

Technically, by bypassing Magical Britain's restrictions on unauthorized magical travel into and out of the country during wartime, Shinji was committing a rather serious crime, setting himself up for being charged with espionage and stripped of his position as Champion if caught, but then, it wasn't exactly likely they'd even know he was there.

After all, unlike other forms of magical travel, like Apparition, Portkeys, or the Floo (the last only being available _within_ a country), the use of Vanishing Cabinets could not be monitored or prevented, save by physically having access to one end of the connection.

…and given that the London end of his connection lay within his manor, protected by a powerful combination of bounded fields and other advanced defenses he only began to understand (only to be expected from the work of his former master), there was no way anyone untoward would be gaining access to it without his permission.

Nor did he think anyone would seek access to his manor anyway, as almost no one in Magical Britain had any reason to suspect that he had a means of bypassing the Ministry's restrictions. Even his Stone Cutter allies, with the possible exception of Luna Lovegood (who also knew of the backdoor connection he had to Hogwarts, but had the advantage of being a fusion user), remained unaware of his little secret – which was good, given the current mood at Hogwarts and the existence of Legilimency.

Granted, the British Ministry no doubt knew that he was the owner of a functional pair of Vanishing Cabinets (and a "broken" one he'd obtained from _Borgin and Burkes_ ), given that he'd filed registration papers for them, but since the far end of the connection hadn't left by some magical means, he was fairly certain that people thought that he'd linked his manor with the Lovegood house or some such.

Now, this wasn't the case on the Japanese side of things, where his former Master, her assistant Tomas "Peverell", and the Maiden of the Tree all knew about his Cabinets, but none of them had really raised much of a fuss. Then again, he suspected that his former Master liked having a way to get to Britain that didn't cost money, that Tomas liked having a backdoor into Magical Britain, and that Matsuo Hijiri didn't really care it existed, since she could shut down the connection as easily as any portal.

All he had to worry about in that regard was the British side of things, and as long as he refrained from using witchcraft in a public area – and stayed away from Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, or any of the areas under the Ministry's purview – there was no real danger of detection. That…and of course, allowing the Association to continue to believe he had died in Fuyuki, meaning no visits to the Tower proper, as much as he would have liked to ask El Melloi II some questions. It was to his advantage to minimize the risk of the world at large discovering that he had survived, as the Einzbern would no doubt send a death squad after him - one that had proven effective against not just...the being who had been his grandfather, but also against Tomas.

 _'I'm no Archmage. If they came for me, I wouldn't stand a chance, not as I am...'_

But if he was avoiding the Tower and the areas controlled by the Ministry, then...what could he do? His manor _was_ comfortable, but he didn't think he'd be happy spending his weekends just lazing about at home - and he didn't especially want to deal with Tohsaka after their last, awkward encounter.

' _I guess that means I should do what Luna does and explore Britain a bit. I don't have time for any long trips, but maybe a few day trips into the countryside might do.'_

After all, despite spending three years of his life in Britain, he hadn't seen much of the country beyond Hogwarts and some of London, and with everything going on, he figured he might not have another opportunity.

Admittedly, it would be…nice to spend some time with Luna in a setting other than Hogwarts or his manor house. He'd enjoyed their time together in Tahiti, away from the cares of the world, and he imagined this would be more of the same, with her showing him some of the world _she_ knew.

Yes…the more he thought about it, the more he liked that idea, since he _did_ need a break from the physical and mental strain of training. And in the unlikely event something did happen…

' _Well, I'll deal with things as they come. But really…what possibly could go wrong?'_

* * *

On completing the transition from _Mahoutokoro_ to his manor house and stepping out of the Vanishing Cabinet to his study for the first time in almost a month, Matou Shinji blinked as stepped into a bright, sunlit room. In the back of his mind, he'd remembered that there was a time difference, but given how it had been midnight by the time he'd managed to finish his training, such minutiae had been rather the last thing on his mind.

The second thing, of course, was how _quiet_ it was. Where _Mahoutokoro_ was a living city, bustling with people – and _youkai_ – of all walks of life, the manor – or at least the study – was silent as the grave.

' _It must be strange for you too, eh, Zelkova?'_ he asked the _kodama_ trailing him silently. _'Nature isn't this quiet after all.'_

' _Indeed, Master.'_ The _kodama_ 's voice, echoing in Shinji's mind, was calm, almost thoughtful. _'But that is only to be expected, as the bounded field erected by Aozaki-san make this house almost a world apart.'_

'… _and since it is early enough in the day, there isn't anyone home, is there?'_ Shinji thought to himself, yawning in spite of himself. It had, after all, been a very long day. _'Time zones. I don't know if I'll ever really get used to dealing with them.'_

' _They are an odd thing,'_ Zelkova acknowledged. _'Of course, they are usually not something we spirits tend to be concerned with.'_

' _Well, from what I've seen, most spirits don't do much in the way of international travel,'_ Shinji pointed out silently. _'Well, at least not in my experience.'_

"Not _kodama_ , certainly!" Zelkova agreed, with the spirit speaking out loud as he took the form of a silver-haired boy with white Japanese-style clothing, a golden-eyed boy whose head was adorned with small antler-like horns. " _Kitsune_ and _Tengu_ perhaps, but it is unusual for one of my kind to leave the land of his birth, given that our physical bodies cannot move."

Shinji just raised an eyebrow, as the fact that Zelkova was here with him seemed to give the lie to that remark.

"I'm the exception that proves the rule, Master," the _kodama_ explained, turning away and walking to the window, letting out a contented sigh as he basked in the rays of the afternoon sun. "Still, with that in mind…" The spirit's voice trailed off…

"Yes?" the Matou asked out loud, wondering what his familiar wanted to say – and why he had taken physical form.

The silver-haired youth turned to the practitioner of witchcraft who he had partnered with what seemed like a lifetime ago, his features taking on a serious cast as he nodded.

"Apologies if I am being presumptuous, but from Matsuo-san tells me, humans prefer certain things to be said out loud and face to face. So…I wanted to thank you, Master," Zelkova said quietly, every word clear in the stillness that surrounded them.

"Thank me?"

"Yes," the spirit confirmed, his voice full of a strange gravity Shinji wasn't used to. "I wish to thank you for showing me strange new worlds and distant lands, for letting me see strange magics and humans of all sorts. And I wanted to thank you for coming to _Shiretoko_ , and being who you are."

"What do you mean?" Shinji asked, remembering some of their early interactions. "There's no need to thank me for all that. After all, I'm sure I've given you a good deal of trouble in the time we've been together. I'm…well, you know, a bit headstrong, and not always the best at listening and learning."

 _'Because I don't like being wrong...or at least admitting to it.'_

"That may be so," Zelkova acknowledged, the corner of the _kodama_ 's lips twitching upwards ever so slightly. "Still, I have you to thank for being born into this world. Even if you are sometimes a troublesome, easily distracted Master. Humans...so strange really."

"We're not that..." But Shinji trailed off. "Wait. What did you mean by 'born…?'"

"Did you forget, Master?" the _kodama_ murmured _._ "Were it not for our contract, I would not exist as I am. The Zelkova - the Tsukinoki - you know was born to be your familiar. I was created when our compact was made, and when it ends, I will return to being an aspect of one of the old ones of _Shiretoko_ , my thoughts and experiences becoming part of the whole."

"Ah." Shinji said nothing for a moment, as he gathered his thoughts. "What aspect were you?"

"I was born of the old one's curiosity."

"I see," Shinji remarked, shaking his head. "You know, rather than you thanking me, it is I who should be thanking you, Zelkova. You've taught me so much this past year, showed me that despite how far I've come from…from what I was, there is much I have yet to learn about the world. Without you…without you, I would probably not be alive." Or Potions Champion, for that matter. For someone as proud as Matou Shinji had been, it wasn't an easy admission. But the Matou Shinji that had once been was gone, and in its place, _this_ Matou Shinji wasn't afraid to admit the truth – in this case, the truth that without the spirit's help, he would have already died many times over. "So, for what it's worth, thank _you_ , Zelkova. I couldn't have asked for a better familiar – or a better friend."

With everyone and everything he'd lost, Shinji knew better than to take anyone for granted, and so, he bowed deeply to his familiar.

Seeing this, the silver eyebrows of the tree spirit shot upwards in surprise, as he had not expected the boy he called his Master to do such a thing.

"Rise. There is no need for that," Zelkova intoned, with Shinji straightening at the other's words. "After all, in the end, we both helped each other to become who we are."

"Mm, it's not the end just yet, I hope," Shinji replied. "I think we still have…nine years left on our contract, I think?"

"Indeed. Nine years before I return to the whole."

"...I don't suppose there's any chance of renewing our accord?" the boy inquired. "After all, as Sokaris might say, I do not find your company...disagreeable."

"Perhaps," the _kodama_ allowed. "I do not believe that is something I can decide. After all, I am but an aspect."

"Well, we'll find out when we do then. Until then, Zelkova, I am in your care." Shinji smiled slightly, though his face fell as he noticed the presence of a few letters on the desk in his study– letters written in his Master's hand, letters which hadn't been there when he was last here.

Given that his study was always locked when he wasn't present, with none of the residents having access, that meant the missives had to have been delivered by someone using the cabinets.

 _'Master...'_

Shinji sighed.

"I suppose I had better see what this is all about before Luna gets here…" he said ruefully, shaking his head. Slowly, the boy made his way over to his chair, an odd expression crossing his features. "Pity. I wanted to do something nice to surprise her. Maybe even cook." He grimaced a bit. "Well, maybe not that. I'm still pants at making anything too fancy, even if I don't burn water anymore. Though…" He looked over at Zelkova inquiringly. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to help me with paperwork?"

The _kodama_ only chuckled.

"Master," the spirit said reproachfully. "With all due respect, I am not suited for such work. Nor am I much of a cook, since…."

"…right. Your kind fears fire. I know." Shinji sighed, as he eased himself into the chair and reached for the first letter on the stack, pausing ever-so-briefly as his gaze fell upon the picture of himself and the now Vice-Director of Atlas, together with the Director and the two living Magicians. _'I know that the letter probably says, but...well, if nothing else, I really hope Master didn't see the picture.'_ He glanced around, not seeing anything else out of place. _'Since the room_ _seems to be in one piece, maybe she didn't, but...then did Tomas come to Britain? That's...interesting.'_ If not slightly worrying, given who Tomas had been in life, but that wasn't really his concern, he supposed. "Right, well, feel free to head up to my quarters and enjoy the sun for a while. Or meditate, if you prefer. You've earned it," he said quietly.

"As you wish, Master," Zelkova replied with a nod as the spirit phased through the door and faded, leaving Matou Shinji alone.

Once he was gone, the young practitioner of witchcraft spoke again, running his hands over the envelope from his former Master and gingerly opening the seal.

"Now…let's see what Master has to say, eh?"


	19. Starlit Faith

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 19.** _Starlit Faith_

Matou Shinji's face was a blank mask as he set down the last page of the final letter from Aozaki Touko, a thousand different thoughts running through his mind at what she'd written. On one level, he was hardly surprised by the contents, as his former Master had already told him in person that she would help Tohsaka, and would be suspending his apprenticeship for the duration. On another, he knew that if he wanted the Tower – and the Einzbern – to believe he was dead, having the puppeteer formally choose another apprentice was a good thing, as it would reinforce the others' assumption that he'd perished. On another still, as busy as he was these days preparing for the Potions Championship at _Mahoutokoro_ , it wasn't as if he had time to be a good apprentice….

And yet, reading what she'd written – seeing what she'd said and more set down on paper – hit him like a physical blow. Knowing that his former Master had agreed to help Tohsaka had been one thing. Even having his privileges as an apprentice suspended for the duration made sense, with everything going on. But…learning that his former Master had made Tohsaka her formal apprentice, and on top of that, had gone out of her way to speak with El Melloi II about transferring the responsibility to Tohsaka's sponsorship to one of her old friends…rankled.

After all, no matter how far he had come from who he had been, what glories he'd won, what feats he'd accomplished, a small, traitorous part of himself whispered that he should have expected his Master to replace him with a proper magus. That she had been merely kept him around for her amusement for a time, before finding a more capable successor, just as the Matou family had once humored his delusions that he could become a magus, while secretly training the Tohsaka _castoff_ as heir. And if a castoff had been chosen over him, why not the proper Tohsaka heiress?

' _No. That's not…'_

This line of thinking…it was irrational. Shinji knew it was irrational. He'd effectively _asked_ for his Master to do something of this sort.

And yet…

…he couldn't suppress a frisson of hurt, as he himself had only ever been the puppeteer's _provisional_ apprentice, while there was nothing provisional about Tohsaka's status – at least on paper.

' _Though if I'm being honest with myself, she probably will make a better apprentice than I will, since she and Master are both magi.'_

That…and with Tohsaka having left Fuyuki, only to be treated like a leper by her peers at the Tower, she would probably throw herself into whatever the puppeteer asked of her with relish.

'… _much as she threw herself at me, because I showed her kindness.'_

Remembering that night was…awkward for Shinji for a number of reasons, chief among them being that it had revealed to him how the girl he'd idolized – the perfect magus who was always in control, who was never affected by anything – didn't exist. And then there was the absurdity of it, because only a few months ago, if someone had told him that one day, Tohsaka would throw herself at him, begging for him to hold her, to make her _his_ in every meaning of the word…and that he would proceed turn her down, he would have laughed in their faces.

To Matou Shinji, such a situation – the thought that she would ever actually proposition him just as much as the thought that he would reject her – would have seemed absurd.

Still did, really, except that it had actually happened.

' _All this time, I thought we were playing a game of sorts. Using one another. Dancing around each other as possible allies. Playfully testing the limits of who we were to one another, but never really meaning something serious. But maybe I was the only one playing._ '

If he thought about things like that, it certainly cast his interactions with her in the last few years in a rather different light. All this time, he thought he'd simply been currying favor with the Second Owner, investing in good relations for the future, as well seeking acknowledgement from her reactions that he had become someone, but…had she thought it went beyond that?

' _Maybe…she thought I was courting her.'_

For a moment, the boy's thoughts drifted back to Christmas break of last year, when the…incident with Hermione had happened, with misunderstanding building upon misunderstanding to create something truly unfortunate. He supposed he had Tomas to thank for things not turning out much worse than they had. Still…

The boy shook his head to clear it of unpleasant thoughts and recollections.

The past was the past – there wasn't any real point in dwelling on it because it could not be changed. What mattered was the present, and the future to come.

' _Speaking of which, I should write to Sokaris and give her an update regarding everything. Mashu and Master have probably sent her some information about my survival, among other things, but I'm sure she would like to hear my account.'_

He let himself feel a twinge of amusement as something else came to mind.

' _And maybe I should see how Illyasviel is doing as well. At the very least, I hope she hasn't run out of batteries.'_

That, and he hoped that the homunculus wasn't giving the Director of Atlas too much trouble, given that when Sokaris had last mentioned her, Illyasviel had apparently been giving one of Sokaris' subordinates with her curiosity about Atlas' legendary arsenal.

'… _I can just see it now. Ilya demanding to be given powered armor, or to be made the pilot of a giant robot or something. That would suit her.'_

With that amusing image bringing a smile to his face, the boy took a pen and a few blank sheets from one of the desk drawers and began to write, committing what existed only in thought and memory to paper and ink.

* * *

"Hullo Matou," Luna murmured quietly against Shinji's neck, her hot breath and the sound of her voice sending a delicious thrill through him that distracted him from the warmth of her lithe form in his lap – and astride his hips – along with the way her fluffy white tail sent ripples of pleasure through him as it brushed against his bare legs.

"Hello yourself, Luna," he said warmly, kissing the top of her head as he cuddled her close, his fingers idly running through her unbound hair.

"Brushtail possum fur," the girl whispered, gasping as Shinji's fingers brushed against white furred ears that peeked out from her unbound hair.

"Hm?" the boy asked absently, noting his companion's reaction to him just touching her vulpine ears – and smirking, proceeded to trace the edges, eliciting another gasp from his lover. "What was that, Luna?"

"What I was wearing," she replied, and then it was Shinji's turn to gasp as the girl in his arms tilted her head upwards, capturing his earlobe with her lips and nibbling on it gently. "When I arrived." Her tone turned a bit impish as she pulled back a bit. "You seemed to like it."

"Ah…" Shinji breathed, the scent of her stirring something primal in him even as he recalled the garments Luna had been wearing when she'd appeared before him: an ensemble of a red tunic dress (which she was still wearing, in fact, though the hemline was bunched about her waist) made of some decadently soft material, a charcoal-colored longline coat (which had quickly been discarded as their bodies reacquainted themselves with each other), black lace stockings and a red beret.

…with all of this accented by the fox-ears and fluffy white tail of her fusion form.

He had just sealed the letter to Sion and sent it through the small vanishing cabinet link to Atlas when the door to the Vanishing Cabinet leading to Hogwarts had swung open. He turned at the sound, and witnessing the sight before him, his jaw had just about _dropped_.

Given that she'd been coming from Hogwarts, he'd half-expected her to be wearing either the usual figure-concealing school robes, the blue dress he'd gotten used to seeing while facing her in fusion form, or something more casual.

Seeing her in a getup like this was frankly quite stunning, and with the exotic appeal of her fusion form, he had been utterly unable to resist as she slinked over to him, plopped herself in his lap, and snogged him silly – not that he'd wanted to resist at all as he'd missed her dearly.

Apparently she had missed him too, given that for a long while, there were no words between them as their bodies followed ancient instinct, seeking and enjoying themselves with one another, until at last they arched together, sated for a time.

"…what's a possum?" he questioned, turning his face so that when she leaned in to capture his earlobe again, he ended up stealing a kiss instead, with his lover sighing contentedly. "Some kind of magical creature?" he asked, when their lips parted.

But the girl in his arms just shook her head and smiled.

"No," she whispered, electing a whimper from her companion as she ground against him. "Just a marsupial."

"Marsu…are you _sure_ that's not magical?" Shinji managed to get out, with what slivers of rationality he had left. "It sounds like it. Where is it even from?"

"Australia," Luna answered, a hint of amusement in her golden eyes as she captured his lips and kissed him deeply, moaning into his mouth.

"…Australia," Shinji repeated, his face flushed and breath heated as he pulled back once more – and not altogether willingly. He managed a brief chuckle, before he was inexorably drawn in once more by his companion's charms. "It might as well be magical then, with what I hear about that place. Though nothing is quite as magical as you."

He leaned in to kiss her, and for the rest of the evening, there were no more words, merely sounds of mirth and pleasure, and the passion of long-separated lovers making up for lost time.

* * *

The next day, after he and a Luna who had returned to her normal form finally roused themselves from their room, finished up a breakfast of fluffy buttermilk pancakes garnished with bacon crumbles and banana bourbon syrup, and proceeded to one of the exquisitely appointed sitting rooms to talk, Shinji found that there was another surprise waiting for him.

He had just seated himself on one of the plush, velvet couches, when Luna handed him a box that was surprisingly light for its size, her eyes seeming to hint that he should open it.

"What's this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he proceeded to do so. Inside, he found a blue and silver jumper and scarf set, along with a charcoal-colored longline coat made of a material he found to be soft and warm to the touch.

' _It's like wool, but finer.'_ He paused, raising an eyebrow as he rubbed a bit of the fabric between his fingers. _'Much finer.'_

"Something to keep you warm in my place," the blonde commented, her gaze warm as she watched him carefully. "Since I can't come with you to Durmstrang, I thought I would make something for you."

Warmth blossomed in Shinji's chest – and on his cheeks – at Luna's words, as something like this was…special. It was one thing to buy a present – quite another to craft something – especially something as wondrous as this.

"Thank you. Really," he murmured, almost overcome with emotion at the gesture. "This means a lot to me."

"You stepped through a portal to an unknown land this summer, knowing only that I would be there," Luna said quietly, an odd expression on her face as she eased herself down onto the couch beside him. "Knowing I meant that much to you…meant even more to me."

Shinji set the box down on the table in front of the couch and turned to wrap Luna in his arms, a contented sigh issuing from his throat as she snuggled against him.

"Still…it's so soft," the boy said. "Last night…you said this wasn't magical? That it was made of…possum fur?"

"Brushtail possum, mixed with cashmere and silk," the blonde whispered. "Do you like it…?"

"I do. I've just…I've never even heard of that before," Shinji noted. "Cashmere and silk, certainly, but…"

"They're only found in Australia and New Zealand," Luna murmured against his chest. "No one really sells clothes made of it yet, just the yarn. It's a pity really. It's like wearing a warm cloud, or a dream."

"Wow." Shinji's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Hard to imagine it's not magical, then."

Idly, he wondered if there might be a market for something made of cashmere, possum fur, and _spider_ silk – say, a sort of fantastically comfortable light armor. It was something he'd suggest to Kaiduka-san or such, he supposed, since there were some who raised giant spiders in _Mahoutokoro_ , and he had a good quantity of silk even after his former Master had taken a quantity for her own use.

"Actually, I take that back," he amended, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. "I do think the gift is magical…but only because you made it for me. And right here, right now, you're all the magic I need."

They spent the rest of the morning – and much of the afternoon – catching each other up on the things that had transpired in their absence.

They talked of the militant atmosphere at Hogwarts, with the new army being trained there, and the restrictions that had been put in place concerning leaving the campus. They talked of some of the disciplinary problems, with some of the trainees – allegedly on patrol – being caught "snogging" with young students. Of how traditional enemies had been seen warming up to one another, with Ginny spending a good amount of time with Draco Malfoy. Of how Fred had ceased participating in Stone Cutter activities, and instead was spending his time drilling with the army.

(And of how he was developing quite a reputation as a playboy, having been seen in the company of the girls of the former Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Quidditch Teams, among others – though most of them denied it.)

Of how Harry was spending increasing amounts of time in the Forbidden Forest in his wolf form to get away from the pressures of…everything, with Daphne often borrowing his cloak to join him.

Of the mutterings and speculation about who had been responsible for the attack, and the growing ire towards foreigners as the ICW was taking its time responding to the incident. Of how people had been told that as Potions Champion of Hogwarts, Shinji was away on special training (which was _technically true)_ to increase Britain's chance of success in the World Championship, with naught said about his decision to turn down citizenship or such.

Luna mentioned that she was dueling against George these days, testing her skill with fusion against his _satori_ bond, and his ability to shift into spirit form against her spirit sense, noting that he felt…colder than he used to be, and that he was being a fair bit more ruthless.

"Who wins?" Shinji asked curiously. "I know witchcraft isn't the best at dealing with spirits and such things, but I'd imagine that being bonded with a _kitsune_ , you don't have that issue in fusion."

"Yes, but…" As one who was aligned with yang, her spells were better at dealing with the physical, as opposed to the spiritual, though her impressive increase in magical resistance, speed, and elemental ability meant that George wasn't exactly certain of victory. "If I'm not fused, he wins. If I am, then I win. Generally, anyway. It gets complicated if Peeves is involved."

"…wait, so you sometimes fight George and Peeves at once?" Shinji blinked. "Do they work together, or…?"

"Peeves does what he will," she murmured dreamily.

"Heh, a good old melee-a-trois, eh?" Shinji chuckled. "Sounds like it could be fun."

"Sometimes."

"Where do you duel, anyway?" the boy inquired, curious. "The Room of Requirement, or…?"

"Usually the Book of Spells or Founders Tower," Luna answered. She paused for a bit, just long enough for Shinji to become curious, before she continued. "I've also been dueling with Pansy and Draco."

"Oh?"

"Pansy has been sharing what she knows of hand to hand training with me, while Peeves and I have been helping her with her silent dueling and getting used to fighting multiple opponents."

"Ah. Interesting," Shinji said eloquently. Apparently Pansy had learned a few tricks from Lockhart, since he didn't remember her being much of a physical fighter. "And what about Malfoy?"

"With him, it's not really dueling, as much as teaching each other," Luna said after a moment. "He shows me the spells he is learning from his studies with Madam Pomfrey, and I teach him how to use yang energy." She paused again. "He's actually rather good at it. Sometimes he and Pansy fight each other, so he can practice his wandless spells too."

"Huh." Shinji was taken aback by this. "I didn't think Malfoy would want to want to work with anyone, much less be interested in _healing_ of all things."

"Working at St. Mungo's changed him," Luna said matter-of-factly.

"I see. Just out of curiosity though…why teach Draco yang infusion, and not Pansy?" he asked curiously.

"I tried," Luna admitted, "but she's more like you than me."

"Like…oh. Better at destruction and yin?"

"Mm."

They remained there for some hours, whiling the hours away with pleasant conversation and things more pleasant than talk, only stopping when Zelkova politely knocked on the door to let them know that Mashu had returned, and that he would be talking with her until Shinji was ready.

' _Best not keep her waiting too long, I suppose,'_ Shinji mused, as, with a hint of regret, he and Luna disentangled themselves and straightened up their disheveled garments.

Hand in hand, they walked to the sitting room, where Zelkova and Mashu were talking quietly, with the bespectacled magus turning and rising to her feet as they approached, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of them.

"Senpai!" she exclaimed, bowing to the long-absent master of the manor. She rose, turning with a friendly smile to the girl beside him. "…and Miss Lovegood, too!"

"Mashu, it's good to see you too," Shinji said warmly, though in truth, he was a little disappointed, as he'd hoped Tohsaka would be here as well. "It's been a while."

"Indeed." Concern flashed across the strawberry blonde's face for a moment, as she noticed the joined hands, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving Shinji wondering if it had ever been there at all. "Senpai…is it alright that…?"

"She knows," Shinji said calmly. "About what happened with my family and…everything."

"Everything?" Mashu echoed, raising an eyebrow, as Shinji remembered that on top of whatever else she was, she was also an agent of Atlas.

"…everything that I'm allowed to tell," he amended, a bit defensively. "I trust Luna with my life."

"Mm, if you say so, senpai," Mashu noted, still sounding a bit unsure. "She knows about your…adventures?"

"She was a part of most of them, after first year," the Matou boy remarked. Wanting to put a rest to the matter and move onto another topic, he looked towards the door, noting that Tohsaka's coat and shoes were nowhere to be seen. "So, when is Tohsaka coming back? I didn't hear her around the last couple of days…"

"Um…I don't think she'll be coming home for a while," Mashu replied, looking a bit chagrined. "She sleeps over at the Department of Archaeology most of the time."

"The Department of…?"

"General studies, under Professor Lev," the girl explained. "Aozaki-san arranged it after…"

"…after?" Shinji echoed. Then he remembered. "After choosing her as an apprentice, right?"

"Yes," the bespectacled magus confirmed, blushing a bit. "The director was…a bit concerned how you would take the news, given your…past." She glanced over at Luna cautiously, as the young Ravenclaw just nodded.

"Oh," Shinji said dumbly, a smile unwittingly tugging at the corners of lips at the thought that Sokaris was worried about him. "About that. I actually asked Master to look after her, since Tohsaka needed someone to help her more than I do. So it's not quite the surprise you might think."

The others in the room were silent for a moment as they processed this revelation, as it was rather…unexpected that he would do such a thing. Magi by nature tended to be more than a little bit selfish, and so, the fact that Matou Shinji had willingly given up an apprenticeship with Aozaki Touko, one of the most skilled puppeteers alive today, as rather shocking.

"I'm surprised, senpai," Mashu spoke eventually, shaking her head slowly. "You really are a good person after all."

"…was there ever any doubt?" Shinji inquired, only to frown as Mashu remained silent, with Luna and Zelkova looking on with some amusement. "Hey, come on. I'm not a bad guy…" he grumbled. "Really…"

At the sight of his annoyed face, Mashu hid her mouth behind her hand as she chuckled a bit – a sound that just soured Shinji's expression further, even if he did find it rather charming.

"So why do you call him 'senpai', Miss Kyrielite?" Luna asked, once the older girl was finished. "From what I know, senpai is only supposed to be used for people older than you are…"

"…yes, this is true," Mashu said, looking down, her cheeks tinged with red from mirth. "But senpai is a good person. That's why I call him senpai."

"He is, isn't he?" Luna remarked, with the other girl nodding at her words. "A good person, I mean."

"Yes, actually," the agent of Atlas agreed. "Though he doesn't always come off that way. I thought he was just a playboy at first from how easily he charmed Miss Einzbern and Miss Tohsaka."

"…hey now, that's…" Shinji began, not entirely comfortable with this line of conversation.

"He's good at making lonely people feel special, it's true," Luna said, squeezing his hand with hers. "But I think that's because he knows what it is like to feel unwanted and alone. He…doesn't want to have anyone feel that way, if he can help it."

"He is certainly can be surprisingly noble sometimes," Mashu commented, before shaking her head and turning back to Shinji. "Anyway, Zelkova-san was telling me that you wanted to see some of the ruins around Britain, senpai?"

"That's right."

"It would be nice to see some of the artifacts of this land," the _kodama_ chimed in. "And some of the old places."

"Mm…I don't think taking a public tour was a good idea," the bespectacled magus noted. "Not if you still want the Tower to think you're dead…?" She looked over at Shinji, who nodded. "Most of those leave from the British Museum anyway."

"…I can see how that might be a bit of an issue," Shinji agreed. "After the gala, I imagine my face is fairly well known there, isn't it?" He shook his head. "What do you suggest, Mashu?"

"Mm, well, I think if I said I wanted to go somewhere, I could probably get a car and driver," the agent of Atlas thought out loud. "That is, if you don't mind having me along…?" She glanced between Shinji and Luna uneasily, not wanting to be a bother.

' _For an agent, she really is polite…'_

"No, of course not," Luna said with a smile.

"That's great," Mashu replied, returning the younger girl's smile. "And if you're bringing your familiars, well…it's been a while since I was able to take Fou-kun outside."

"Fou-kun?" Shinji echoed. "What's a Fou-kun?"

"A cute animal who came into my care some time ago," Mashu said quietly. "He used to follow after Gray, Lord El Melloi's apprentice, but…I don't think they really got along."

"Well, I don't mind," Luna mused. "It will be good for Pandora to have someone to talk to besides me."

Zelkova said nothing, though it was clear from his expression that he was quite curious.

"Right. Then if you could make the arrangements, Mashu, I'd appreciate it," Shinji said with a winning smile.

"Y-yes, senpai!"


	20. Oath Sign

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 20.** _Oath Sign_

Matou Shinji had always enjoyed the blue hour, the sliver of day before the sun rose, the liminal time twixt nighttime and morning when anything seemed possible. In the twilight, the sliver of infinity unchained that didn't belong to day or night, he felt most at home, most alive. Perhaps that was just because it was a quiet time, when the crowds were not around, and most humans had just begun to stir from their dreams.

Or perhaps it was because he was a liminal creature himself, a boy caught between a myriad of choices and possibilities, someone who was born into a family of magi and trained as a practitioner of witchcraft (and onmyouji), but who didn't fully belong in either world.

' _Not yet. But someday, if I keep striving, I'll reach the goal I've set for myself, no matter how impossible, no matter how far off.'_

Someday.

On this day, however, he, Luna, and Mashu stood in front of manor in London in warm woolen garments, waiting for their transportation to arrive, a black _kitsune_ posed on Shinji's shoulder and a fluffy white dog-like creature perched on Mashu's.

They'd talked about a number of different possibilities for where to go, with Sherwood Forest – from which the legends of Robin Hood had sprung, Corfe Castle – an ancient castle built by William the Conqueror, the Roman fort of Reculver, and Tintagel Castle (the place where in legend, Uther Pendragon, disguised as the Duke of Cornwall, had impregnated the lady Igraine) all coming to mind, though in the end, they'd settled on another place entirely.

Wiltshire.

Matou Shinji blinked as a distinctive – and familiar – car pulled up in front of his residence, with his stomach sinking as the driver side window slowly lowered to reveal the visage of Jeeves – the large tuxedo-clad bodyguard/chauffeur who had driven him around over the winter holidays.

"Miss Kyrielite and companions?" the man rumbled, with Mashu nodding as she walked out to the street, a small frown marring her features. "Your transportation awaits."

He dismounted from the car, rising to his full height of over two meters, and opened the back door, gesturing for the trio to enter.

None of them did, however, as a flicker of puzzlement crossed the chauffeur's face.

"I thought I requested something more discreet from the agency?" the bespectacled magus inquired as she looked over the car – an ultra-exclusive luxury sedan that she recognized as a Rolls Royce Phantom VI. Given that the name Rolls Royce was synonymous with luxury, this was about as far from discreet as one could get. Granted, while in the city, it probably didn't matter as there would be other expensive cars on the road to provide a sort of camouflage, but in the British Countryside…? "Um…this is…"

The blond giant bowed deeply.

"My deepest apologies, Miss Kyrielite. Due to the late nature of the request, and ongoing upgrades to our fleet to ensure adequate protection of VIPs given recent security concerns, there was no other transportation available," Jeeves replied solemnly.

"Ah, I see," Mashu said quietly. "And…"

"I assure you, Miss, at the Agency, discretion is our business," the man stated. "Our clientele expects – and has received – no less."

"Mm." Seemingly satisfied, the agent of Atlas nodded once and stepped into the car, with Matou Shinji and Luna Lovegood right behind her.

"I trust you are familiar with the features this model to offer?" the chauffeur inquired, with the group nodding as one. "Excellent." His gaze shifted to Matou Shinji and Luna Lovegood, as recognition flickered across his features. "It is a pleasure to be serving you again as well, sir. I hope my presence does not make you uncomfortable."

"Ah…no," Shinji answered quietly. "I just...hadn't expected to see you again, Jeeves." Granted, it was one of the more minor shocks he'd experienced in his life, but it was a shock, nonetheless. "I hope you've been well since the winter."

"Quite," Jeeves responded. "As for unexpected encounters and the like, I find, sir, that the universe sometimes has a very warped sense of humor." With that, the chauffeur turned to Luna. "Is there anything you require, Miss?"

"No, I'm fine where I am," Luna said dreamily as she leaned against Shinji.

"Very well," the man acknowledged. "Miss Kyrielite, do you have a destination in mind?"

"Savernake Forest, please," the bespectacled magus replied. "Followed by a trip to Avebury and then a return to London"

"Avebury, is it?" Jeeves echoed. "Not Stonehenge? I would presume you have special access on the Museum's behalf, no?"

"Yes, but…" Mashu hesitated, but the driver just nodded.

"I understand," the man intoned with a slight bow, shutting the rear passenger door and boarding the car himself. "You will desire the privacy screen, I assume?"

"If it is no trouble," Shinji said apologetically.

"None whatsoever," the chauffeur replied, as the screen went up and the car slid into motion, heading out of London.

* * *

In the luxury and privacy of a private sedan, the drive to Savernake Forest should have been unremarkable, with Mashu, Shinji, and Luna making observations, speaking of their worlds, and possibilities, but it was not to be.

Instead, it was the familiars that had begun to talk, with Luna – in fusion form with Pandora – finding that she could comprehend the sounds that "Fou" made. She had managed to conceal the vulpine ears and tail that were giveaways of her fox form while retaining the abilities of the form by manipulating the wind, an ability that were coming in handy as she overheard the conversation Zelkova was having with Fou.

"Fou Fou," the white animal trilled from its position on Mashu's lap. "Fou?"

' _Curious,'_ Zelkova remarked, his animal form letting out a series of _yips,_ overlaying a mental voice that could be heard by both Shinji and Luna, _'you are like me, in a way. A spirit of nature, bound as a familiar.'_

"Fou! Fou!"

' _I am a Zelkova, a_ kodama _of the East. And you are?'_

"Fou."

' _Cath Palug of the Cait Sith?'_

"The monstrous cat of Ynys Môn?" Luna interjected curiously, her golden eyes looking intently upon the innocent-seeming creature. "The one in the stories of King Arthur?"

"Hm? What was that?" the bespectacled magus asked, eyes narrowing as she looked from Fou-kun to the black fox who she knew to be Zelkova, to Luna Lovegood. "You can understand what they're saying?"

"You can't?" Luna asked. "Then he's not your familiar?"

"Fou?" the creature repeated, turning its purple eyes to look fully upon the fused form of Luna Lovegood.

"Yes. I am joined with a spirit," Luna remarked quietly. "Pandora is her name."

"Fou. Fou Foou Fou."

"…yes, that's right, I go to Hogwarts," Luna admitted, her slim eyebrows lifting in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Fou? Fou! Fou fou!"

"No, Pandora is from the East. That's where I learned this art, not at school," the Ravenclaw witch explained. "Why do you ask?"

"Fouuuuuu…." Luna didn't know if she imagining things, but the creature seemed…rather disappointed by her answer, as if he was hoping to hear something else.

"So Miss Kyrielite isn't your Master?" she asked.

"Fou fou."

"…you say that Mashu is nice, but not your Master."

"Fou. Fou Fouuu Fou Fou."

"Your Master was sealed in the Garden of Avalon, on the Other Side of the World, but released you so he could intervene in the world through you?"

"Fou Fou."

"And that the one you fought wasn't named Arthur, but Arturia Pendragon? Uther's…daughter, who wielded the Sword of Selection?" Luna translated, eyes wide with surprise and realization.

"Fou."

"Wait. Arturia Pendragon? Uther's younger daughter? The Sword of Selection?" Shinji repeated incredulously, seizing on words that stood out to him as odd. Oh, individually, they were quite understandable, but together, they were quite confusing. "Wait. Are you saying King Arthur…was a woman?"

"Fou fou!"

"…he's not an idiot, even if he is a little slow sometimes," Luna chided, scratching the ears of the monstrous cat of legend. Up close, this Fou-kun didn't really seem that intimidating, really… "He just hasn't seen the things you have."

"Fou. Fouu Fou?"

"I'm a little strange, yes," the witch admitted. "But then, isn't that normal in this strange world?"

"If I may," Shinji interjected, a question clearly coming to mind. "If King Arthur was a woman…then how was Mordred born?"

"Fouuu Fou Fou."

There was a long, and somewhat awkward pause after Cath Palug'sreply, with both Luna and Zelkova seemingly taken aback by whatever it was the Cait Sith had said.

'… _I'm not sure I heard that right, Cath Palug,'_ Zelkova commented. ' _Did you just say your Master gave her a penis?'_

Shinji's only reaction was a flat "what."

"Fou. Fou Fou."

"So the King was turned for a time into a male, with Morgan le Fay taking her sperm and creating Mordred as a homunculus?" Luna said, translating for the benefit of the others present. "Morgan, not Morgause?"

"Fou? Fou."

"Yes, she is the mother of Gawain in our stories. But not Mordred," Luna explained.

"Fouuuu."

'… _yes, time has a way of distorting the truth, doesn't it?'_ Zelkova asked sympathetically. _'Especially when human memory is rather fallible.'_

"Fou Fou!" the Cait Sith nodded emphatically.

"Fou-kun. No, _Cath Palug-san,_ " Mashu spoke at last, looking directly at the animal she took care of. "If your Master did all this…then was this Master of yours…Merlin?"

"Fou!" the faery familiar confirmed.

"Merlin's familiar…" Luna whispered, her eyes distant as her thoughts roamed far into the hazy distance of the past, before something odd struck her. "I've always wondered about Merlin. He was supposed to have gone to Hogwarts and founded an Order, but he was also supposed to have been sealed away hundreds of years before. Can you tell me if that was him?" she asked the Cait Sith, stroking the cat-like creature's spine as it purred.

"Fou fou."

' _No, it was I in Master's form,'_ Zelkova translated, as the Cait Sith familiar began rolling about in amusement.

"Fou…fou fou fou!"

' _Master, I…do believe he's laughing at us.'_ Zelkova's mental voice was quite dry as he witnessed Fou-kun's merriment. _'Roughly translated, the meaning of his words is "_ You thought it was my Master, but it was I, Fou-kun!"'

"…" Shinji, having had quite enough, finally gave into his urge to cradle his head in his hands. The thought of this…creature being the one British practitioners of witchcraft revered above all others was…was…

…actually, it was pretty funny.

' _They reject the inhuman, and yet the one they all but worship…was in truth a_ Cait Sith. _A creature of the fey. Oh, that's…that's…'_

Confronted with such an absurdity, the boy did what was only human: he laughed. Despite himself, despite every attempt he made to suppress it, the sounds of merriment rose within him and spilled softly from his lips as he hugged himself.

Luna sighed. She understood the reaction, but had no real trouble picturing Fou-kun as Merlin. After all, as she knew full well, reality was a strange, twisted thing, with there being more things in heaven and earth than were dreamt of in any strange philosophy.

Once Fou-kun had calmed down a bit, Mashu, who hadn't been privy to the mental conversation between Shinji and Zelkova, had a question.

"Your Master can project himself through you, can't he?" she asked quietly.

"Fou," the Cait Sith confirmed.

"And there was a reason you sought out Gray when you appeared at the Tower?"

"Fou. Fou fou fou!" Cath Palug vocalized. "Fou fou! Fou!"

Luna's eyes focused once more upon the creature before her, as she processed the meaning of the other's sounds.

"He says…Dark days are coming," she said slowly. "A shadow rises in the East. A cursed chalice fills with a wish that must not be granted. On the horizon, the sum of all fears awaits. The devourer stirs."

"Fou. Fou fou."

"To oppose it, Merlin sought to enlist the assistance of the bearer of the holy spear, that she might call forth her ancestor, who bore the holy sword," Luna noted, shaking her head, as golden tresses spilled about her shoulders. "Her ancestor?"

"The bearer of the holy spear? Her ancestor?" Mashu repeated, eyes widening as the words sunk in. "Does that mean…Gray is a descendant of King Arthur? And she bears Rhongomyniad?"

"Fou fou."

"He says that this should be obvious, since they look almost identical," Luna translated, blinking slowly.

"…she does?" Mashu commented. "But wouldn't King Arthur – even if she was a woman – have been—"

"Fou fou fou."

"Upon drawing the Sword, her time was stopped," Luna reported. "And so she eternally bore the form of a teenage girl. The King who stood at the last moments of illusion, and whose rule heralded the coming of the Age of Man."

"...the foundation of the Anthropic Principle," Mashu whispered, almost reverently.

"Fou."

Sensing the serious mood that had fallen over the passenger compartment, Shinji finally managed to stop laughing, just as Fou-kun hopped off of Mashu's lap and onto his.

"Fou fou."

"The time is coming when you must choose, shadowed one," Luna spoke for the benefit of all in the compartment. "Even if you have already made it." She raised an eyebrow curiously. "What choice is that, Cath Palug?"

"Fou. Fou. Fou."

This time, though she understood, Luna Lovegood did not translate, simply bowing her head as she made her reply.

"I know I cannot. It is his choice. But come what may, come what might, I will walk with him."

"Fou."

' _So be it, Child of Aine.'_

For the rest of the ride to Savernake Forest, the group was silent.

* * *

It was something of a mercy when the car stopped, with Jeeves announcing their arrival at the ancient woodland, specifically at the car park on Leigh Hill, and the others disembarking. He himself was content to enjoy the vista from the car for some time, but the others wandered off down one of the three small valleys branching from the hill.

Zelkova wandered off at the small valley of ancient oaks, declaring his intention to commune with the ancient trees, with Cath Palug going with Luna to continue their conversation in private down a valley lined with copper beeches, leaving Shinji and Mashu to journey through the third, down a path which opened with beech and Scots pine, meandered through a meadow and onwards to an unexplained monument of black stone.

"Shall we?" Shinji asked, gesturing at the valley ahead.

Mashu nodded, and so they set off, their feet carrying them at leisurely pace along avenues of mighty trees, titans that had lived long before the rise of the current era.

"It's all a bit strange," the boy said after a while. "Fou-kun said a lot of unbelievable things, but here, out in the open, it's easier to take in."

"I think you just needed time to think, senpai," Mashu offered, giving her companion a small smile. "But you're not the one who should be shocked. I didn't even know he was a familiar. Much less…"

"You didn't?" Shinji asked curiously. "But…"

"You are bonded with a tree spirit, senpai," the bespectacled girl remarked, smoothing out her coat. "You're probably more aware of your surroundings than I am."

"Maybe," the boy conceded. "Or maybe he was hiding it. I mean, if he was Merlin's familiar, well…" He shrugged. "No doubt he has all sorts of abilities he hasn't revealed."

"It could be, senpai," Mashu allowed, looking down at her feet. "I just thought he would like to go outside, instead of running around the Tower. I didn't think…"

"It's not your fault, Mashu," Shinji said, shaking his head. "Even an agent of Atlas can't foresee everything."

"That's kind of you to say, senpai, given how much you've done."

Savernake, once called _Safernoc_ , was, after all, the single greatest concentration of ancient trees in Europe, trees that had been around since before William of Normandy had invaded Britain and defeated Harold Godwinson in battle to become King of England.

' _What have these trees seen in the many years they have lived? What are they aware of? What do they know?'_

He knew that the Western equivalent to _kodama_ were dryads, and nymphs of the forest – though he was unaware of any that still existed. Still, through an expanded awareness of the world, honed through time in _Aokigahara_ , he could sense that there was something in this forest – something ancient and primal – and that it whispered in ancient tongues of things that once had been.

Of hurts that had been inflicted, and wounds that had yet to heal.

"Maybe," Shinji admitted, taking a deep breath of the fresh forest air. That might also explain why he felt more comfortable in _Mahoutokoro_ , given that at its center was a grand cherry tree. "I'm not actually sure, really. There's still a lot I have to learn about what I can do." He sighed. "Or even who I am."

"Who you are, senpai?" Mashu questioned, as their footsteps crunched along a shadowed forest path, with majestic copper beeches rising leaf and forest litter, and they walked through an ancient copse of on shadowed ground. "What do you mean?"

"I'm a person caught between worlds, Mashu," the boy explained, his smile almost painful. "The world I was born into, the world which accepted me, the world I see waiting. I've made choices that…" He trailed off, looking at his open palms as if they would show him answers, balling his hands into fists when none were forthcoming. "…I set to carve my own path a long time ago, but was that the right thing to do?"

"Only you can decide that, senpai," the girl said kindly. "But I know you'll do the right thing in the end."

"…how can you be sure of that, when I'm not even sure I'm doing the right thing myself?" Shinji stopped, and turned to look at Mashu searchingly. "How?"

"Because you're a good person," the agent of Atlas replied, her gaze seeming mysterious but kind in the late morning light. "Because Miss Lovegood and the director both believe in you, and you're not the type to let them be wrong."

Shinji looked down.

"So, believe in them, because they believe in me, huh?" he repeated, shaking his head. "I suppose that works."

"Right?" They started walking again for a time, a comfortable silence between them, until Mashu spoke again. "Can you answer a question for me, senpai?"

"…well, I just did, but I don't mind answering another," Shinji replied cheekily. "What did you want to know?"

"Um…back in the car," the girl said, her eyes curious as she looked at him. "What made you laugh like that?"

Shinji stopped in his tracks, a broad grin coming over his features as he thought back to his little realization. How to put it…?

"You know one of the worlds I come from?" he said at last. "It's a hidden society that just about worships Merlin as a god. They swear by his name, their highest honor is named after him, they aspire to live like they think he would have wanted them to. Only they've forgotten that Merlin wouldn't want them to live as they are now, rejecting the inhuman – rejecting even the possibility that Merlin was in any way inhuman. Which makes it all the funnier that their hero, the great sage they idolize wasn't really Merlin…"

"It was…Fou-kun?" Mashu summed up, finding Shinji's smile rather infectious as her thoughts followed the same path that his had worn, only an hour ago. "You mean, there's a secret society that worships Fou-kun like a living god…and doesn't realize it?"

"That's right," Shinji said. "It's hilarious, isn't it? A secret society of human supremacists who unknowingly idolize the memory of Fou-kun, seeing him as their ideal in every way, shape and form!"

In the silence of the forest, Mashu's peals of mirth could be heard far into the distance.

* * *

The rest of the group also seemed to be in a better mood when everyone regrouped at the car hours later, with Zelkova seeming more thoughtful after his communion with the forest, Luna seeming slightly less dreamy and more present, Fou-kun being…Fou-kun, and Jeeves having enjoyed the chance to listen to more of his audiobook copy of _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance._

"Avebury, then?" the chauffeur cum bodyguard asked once everyone had boarded the car.

And off they went, quickly arriving at their destination, as Avebury, a village encircled by three stone circles, was only about minutes away.

A Neolithic henge monument like its better-known cousin Stonehenge, Avebury was the largest and most complete stone circle in all of Europe, as well as a place of religious importance to contemporary pagans, as many believed it to have been a center for worship of the mother goddess.

But more importantly, for three hungry young people who had built up quite an appetite in the woods, a hungry chauffeur, and a certain Cait Sith familiar, it had several places to eat, with one being the Circles Café – the only vegetarian restaurant in the entire National Trust, and a farmhouse from the late 16th century that had been converted in 1802 into a pub called _The Red Lion_ that served hearty British fare.

Jeeves headed off to the Circles Café, claiming that he wanted something a little lighter than pub fare, while Shinji, Mashu, Luna and familiars headed to _The Red Lion_ , as they were curious about it being the only dining facility fully enclosed by a stone circle.

As they walked from the car park towards the standing stones surrounding the village, Shinji felt his hairs begin to stand on end as he heard a humming from beneath the earth, the thrumming of an ancient power that had slept for a very long time.

"Fou…" the Cait Sith familiar vocalized almost reverently.

"It's reacting…to me," Luna murmured, making an idle gesture with her hands as the musical landscape changed. "But…"

' _Fusion,'_ Shinji realized. _'It has to be because she's in fusion form…'_

"Fou fou!" Cath Palug exclaimed as the white creature broke into a run, bounding over towards one of the standing stones, a deserted area where no one could be seen. "Fou!"

Following closely behind, the group felt more than heard, music, rhythms powerful and sublime echoing through the void, changing as if it was responding to their movements.

"Fou," the Cait Sith said as he stopped in front of one of the stones, with Luna reaching out and touching it…and the whites of her eyes shifting to a brilliant glowing gold.

"…the monument," Mashu noted. "Why…?"

"Singing stones," Luna answered in a voice that seemed quite distant, a voice that was more than just a voice, heard in the mind as much as through the ear. "Stones that resonate with prana if awakened by someone with the right…key, amplifying the user's power. An instrument."

"A mystic code," Mashu realized. An ancient and elaborate such, keyed to activate only with certain signatures? Or for certain rituals? But there was no ritual happening, no great work being done, just a fox-eared girl who happened to come.

' _Zelkova, now.'_

Wanting to see, to understand, Shinji reached out and opened the door within himself that led into eternity, his senses, consciousness, and more joining with his familiar, with everything _shifting_ , till once more he wore the very visage of the hunter.

Around him, the melody changed, a warm caress of power that reached deep into his core, flowing through him, within him, embracing him within an endless sea. It was a music that the ear could not hear, that could be heard by those who used magic, but resonated only with those born of nature – those with magic cores.

' _I see…'_

It had long been thought that in ancient cultures, rocks that rang or sang or resonated – lithophones, as people called them – were believed to contain mystic or hidden powers, and there was some truth to this, save that rocks which sang did not just interact with sound, but with the fundamental vibrations that created reality.

"Fou fou."

"An instrument. A gate. A portal. And more," Shinji said, _understanding_ at last as he reached out with his will. "A pathway to the Other Side of the World."

A man-made imitation of the legendary fairy rings, a weak point in reality through which one could step into or draw from illusion, using its power, or traveling through it as a shortcut to other places. If he were powerful enough…if he was powerful enough to fully awaken the circle, then he could do great and terrible things.

Shifting Avebury halfway around the world. Stopping the passage of time. Commanding a forest to grow, or woods to walk. Awakening the entire network of structures all across Wiltshire and becoming something _more_ …

' _The more powerful one is, the more the stones resonate and the more power one can draw...the more one draws, the more powerful one becomes – where does it end?'_

Was there an end? Staring into the abyss, the possibilities seemed endless and it was tempting – oh, so tempting – to lose himself in the endless sea of the Other Side.

' _No, Master.'_

But driven by a warning he felt more than heard, Matou Shinji pulled himself back from the brink and away from the stone, returning to himself as the heightened awareness granted by the circle fell away. Someone who tried to draw too much would cease to be as their physical vessel overflowed with power, and was swallowed by the Other Side.

Only someone who had been born with extreme power – say, a certain half-incubus – or who had fully mastered fusion would be able to use the full power of such an edifice safely. Others might draw in drips and drabs and dribbles, but there was always the temptation – the intoxication of even a sip of the powers beyond.

Hearing a cry from behind him, Shinji turned to see Luna Lovegood collapse to the ground, the powers that had gathered around her dissipating as her hand left the standing stone.

"Luna!" Shinji cried out, rushing over and kneeling at his lover's side. With his awareness he could feel that she was alive, but strange, eldritch energies were twisting through her to an extent they had not in him. "Luna, speak to me."

Yet the girl said nothing, staring blankly into the sky as she breathed, gasping, heaving breaths greedy for air. Slowly, slowly, over the course of many seconds, the gold in her eyes receded to her irises, with the vulpine tail and ears she had concealed appearing as her concentration faltered, before these faded as well and her eyes shifted to silver.

"Luna…are you alright?"

Slowly, the girl blinked, a semblance of animation returned to her face as she swallowed, her gaze focusing at last on the boy above her.

"…mother."

"What did you say…?"

"…I saw mother…" she whispered, with an expression on her face Shinji didn't think he'd even seen before.

* * *

Fortunately, no one – aside from Mashu – seemed to have seen them, and after about 15 minutes, Luna managed to get to her feet, with her stomach deciding right then and there to remind her – and her companions – that they had not yet eaten.

"…to the pub?" Shinji suggested.

"Mhm," Mashu agreed, obviously still mulling over what she had sensed. Shinji had the distinct impression that everything that had happened would be going into a report, and was thankful that it would be at Atlas, lest there be yet _more_ complications.

Thankfully, they arrived at the pub without any further complications, where they were treated to the wondrous smell of a traditional English roast with all the trimmings. Quite hungry, they ordered a few starters to share – crispy breaded garlic mushrooms with mayonnaise and dressed mixed leaves, and scallops topped with crispy bacon on a bed of minted pea puree, and an antipasti board with a mix of salami, olives, buffalo mozzarella, cherry tomatoes, hummus and white bloomer bread.

Mashu watched as Shinji and Luna at ravenously, more so than she would have expected, quickly finishing the appetizers before ordering their main dishes: a beef rib roast with cauliflower cheese in Shinji's case, and lamb shank in Luna's, served with fresh seasonal vegetables that crunched readily in their mouths, a large Yorkshire pudding, rich and puffy and covered with gravy, and crisp golden-brown roast potatoes, and gravy and mash.

She herself was not quite as hungry, and so simply had a wagyu burger, served in a sesame-seeded bun, topped with salad, mayonnaise, mature cheddar and bacon, with spicy kimchi ketchup on the side. The unique marbling of the beef gave it a silky, buttery taste she enjoyed after the excursion in the woods, while the side-dishes – rosemary-salted fries and coleslaw – accented the dish nicely.

And then came dessert, and as hungry – or as full – as each might have been, none could really find the heart to turn down something sweet.

Shinji ordered the aptly named "millionaire's caramel cheesecake", a sinful confection sprinkled with chocolate-coated toffee popcorn and served on an indulgent drizzle of toffee sauce, a wonderful way to cleanse the palate after something rich and salty. Luna's selection was a bit more unusual, but no less decadent, being a chocolate brownie flower pot, consisting of a hot and chewy brownie rich with fudge, chocolate mousse that was light and airy as a dream, and edible chocolate "soil", served with clotted cream and ice cream topped with chocolate sauce.

Even poor Mashu, knowing she was going to have a long, long report to write after this, decided she might as well treat herself given the report she'd have to write – in her case, a tasty bakewell tart, a confection consisting of a shortcrust pastry shell beneath layers of jam and frangipane – a filing made of almonds, and a topping of flaked almonds, served warm with double cream and cherry compote.

Perhaps it wasn't as rich as what the others had eaten, but then, she hadn't employed any unusual powers either, unlike them.

As for Fou-kun, he was satisfied with a 10 oz ribeye steak that had been aged for 28 days, so that it was succulent and intensely flavoursome, cooked medium rare – something he was made to share with Pandora, much to his displeasure.

They paid and left, with Mashu asking to go out to the stone rings for further examination, and the others trailing her.

As it so happened, however, their little group was not only one at Avebury with unique abilities, with two individuals who happened to be nearby having sensed the temporary activation of the singing stone array, and were curious as to the cause.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shinji noticed someone approaching them and turned to see the figure of Tomas emerging from the village inn. The puppet had not been at _Mahoutokoro_ recently, with Shinji wondering where he had been, though he would not have expected to find him _here._

Before he could greet the man, however, something else caught his attention, almost freezing him to the spot – the simple strains of someone humming 'Ode to Joy.'

' _No. Not now, not…'_

The group, noticing that Shinji had slowed down, turned to see what was wrong, as a blond youth with blood red eyes sauntered up them.

Shinji had last seen this boy in Fuyuki City, two winters ago.

A boy who had called him a "descendant of the beasts" and had called himself an "archer."

A boy who Shinji knew beyond a shadow of a doubt wasn't human.

A boy who had been very much in tune with music.

' _If he was here when the stones…came to life, there was no way he wouldn't have noticed it…'_

Shinji swallowed at the sight of the newcomer, with Mashu and Luna looking far more neutral, and "Fou-kun" seeming to glare at the newcomer.

"Music is a wonderful thing, is it not?" the youth questioned.

"It can be, yes," Shinji allowed.

"Especially when brings joy or revelation, but also when it evokes sorrow, it is memory woven into a more lasting form," the golden-haired youth spoke solemnly. "A pity then, that humans have forgotten so much that they cannot even hear the song of ages. Is this not so, Child of the Matou?"

"Fou!"

The youth, seemed to shrug off the animosity of the Cait Sith familiar, even as he glanced over the magus and witch walking besides Matou Shinji's sides. "I see you even have companions this time. And that the rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated."

Shinji stiffened.

This was very bad…very, very bad.

"Not entirely," the Ravenclaw boy said, somewhat cautiously. "From a certain point of view, it can be said that that Matou Shinji did indeed pass away. That the scion of the Matous is dead. But–"

"Indeed. I must say, you look quite well for a dead man," Tomas interjected, coming up to the group from behind them, though the puppet stiffened as he took a closer look at the blond youth with red eyes. "...and who might you be?" he asked, his voice nearly a whisper

"My name is of no consequence to a mere imitation, puppet," the youth spoke, his red eyes seeming to bore into Tomas' own. "But if you wish to provide one, what is yours?"

"Heh, so you can see what I am?" the puppet inquired. "Fascinating."

"I can see many things," the youth replied, nodding once, as if amused. "How strange, that the serpent's heir has forgotten the gifts of its ancestors, when I gave it immortality." He paused, as if considering. "But then, that is fitting of this age, I suppose. And perhaps it is wrong to call a mere imitation an heir..."

"Perhaps I am an imitation, crafted and not born, unlike my progenitor," Tomas said after a moment. He took a deep breath as he studied the other, instinctively feeling that he would stand little chance if things came down to violence. "Still...there is no rule that an imitation cannot surpass the original."

"Fou!" The Cait Sith agreed emphatically. "Fou fou."

"Hmph. I see this faery creature agrees – because he too can become an imitation of his master," the golden youth intoned. "I wonder, do you truly believe that, puppet? Or you, beast of the woods, when this modern age slavishly imitates the wonders of the past? When so many exist only as parasites, consuming, not creating, _useless?_ "

"Fou. Fou fou fou!"

"You think that there is potential, even so?" the red-eyed child asked, turning his full attention to the Cait Sith familiar. "Why?"

"Fou fou. Fou. Fou."

"That while some may forget, others do not? That progress is a spiral, not a line?" The youth shook his head. "How many times does the cycle of destruction have to occur? A civilization is born, a civilization dies. Over and over again. Humanity is trapped in this spiral, unable to escape, unable to become more."

"Fou."

The golden child raised an eyebrow.

"An objection? I will entertain what you have to say, I suppose."

"Fou fou. Fou fou fou. Fou."

"Hope is what drives humanity to do the impossible? Not hardship?" The child tilted his head. "I was contemplating a trial of sorts, but, you say one is already to come?"

"Fou fou."

"…you've seen _that_ future as well, have you?" the child asked. He seemed lost in thought for a moment as if his gaze was elsewhere, else when. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "Is that the future you seek, Magus of Flowers? A future where our kind spans the very stars?"

"Fou fou."

"…yes, where we are as the stars." The golden youth was silent for some time, though no one interrupted him. No one dared. "It is a worthy goal, certainly, but…"

"Fou."

"Yes, it would be ideal if the world surpassed us," the red-eyed child pointed out. "Every father wishes that his descendants will surpass him. But across the ages, I have met no equal, save once in my time."

"Fou fou."

"A chance you say?" the youth laughed, a quiet sounds that was much less disturbing than Shinji thought possible. "And how many chances must there be, before the board is wiped clean for a new game to begin?"

' _Wipe the board clean? What…?'_

"Fou!"

The golden child stopped laughing at the familiar's objection.

"…I am not certain this path leads to where you think it will, Magus. I think you seeing only what you wish to see, your vision clouded by your attachments to this world," he said, shaking his head. "However, I suppose I am willing to give it the benefit of the doubt for now. After all, I once loved humanity, promising to watch over them, as you do in your far off realm."

The youth turned to look directly at Matou Shinji, his crimson eyes boring into the dull grey of the Matou boy.

"Child of the Matou," the inhuman boy intoned. "I care not who you are, or what you are, or by what name you call yourself. Simply tell me this: when the tainted chalice overflows from the wishes of mankind, will you oppose it…even if it costs you everything?"

"I would." Shinji's voice was iron, as he met the other's eyes unflinchingly. There was no waver in it, no trace of hesitation, no ounce of give.

"Even if it means what you desire will never come to pass? Even if you are forgotten?"

"Yes."

"Even if it is your end, with life on the Other Side denied to you?" the youth asked a final time, with Shinji's reply being a curt nod.

He spoke no words – there was no need for them.

Since long ago, he'd already known the answer to these questions, had already made his choice, so in the face of a being who could end his existence as easy as breathing, he stood his ground and held his head high.

"Why?" the so-called archer inquired, more softly. "You would have nothing to gain. You would leave nothing behind, not even a memory. And yet you would oppose the wishes of mankind to save them? Why?"

The answer was simple.

"Because that is what _she_ would have me do," Shinji answered. He staggered, as pain erupted across the skin of his shoulder and arm, as if molten metal was being poured into his muscles, into his nerves, but somehow, he managed to stay standing.

The blond youth watched impassively, with the air shifting to something less hostile.

"So I see. How unexpected," the inhuman one said at last, turning to the Cait Sith. "Perhaps you have a point. For now, I will reserve my judgement. After all, I have finally heard the ancient music again for the first time in millennia."

"The ancient…"

But Mashu did not get a chance to finish her query, before the youth turned to leave.

"Child of the Matou, we will meet again," he said over his shoulder. "If your convictions remain, perhaps you may survive the shadow. But words are cheap, and blood precious. What will you choose when the time comes?"

The boy began to walk off, but paused as Shinji answered him.

"I have already told you, King of Heroes. I don't like to repeat myself."

"Heh."

And so, with a small smile on his face, Gilgamesh walked away towards the carpark, where a motorcycle carried him away.

Fortunately, the rest of the day was uneventful.

* * *

In the bath that night, Shinji was less than surprised when Luna noticed something strange, her delicate fingers tracing a blood-red design on his upper arm.

"What's this?" she asked quietly, her eyes curious as she looked up at him. "This wasn't here last night."

It looked like a tattoo – a tattoo wrought of three concentric symbols – an ouroboros surrounding a crescent moon, within which rested the Eye of Horus.

But it wasn't a tattoo.

"…it is the sign of my oath," Shinji replied distantly, remembering what he had said to the one he now knew to be Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes. "Of a choice I have already made. Of a future yet to come."


	21. Labyrinth of Memories

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 21.** _Labyrinth of Memories_

It was not often that Matou Shinji found himself at a loss for words, and after the revelations made by Cath Palug and _Gilgamesh_ , he thought himself rather inured to other such surprises. What the boy forgot, however, was that by the very definition of the word, a surprise was unexpected - and therefore difficult, at best, to prepare for.

"…did you just say that Oda Nobunaga…was a woman?" the young practitioner of witchcraft repeated slowly, his mind struggling with the notion that, contrary to everything he'd been taught in school, the legendary warlord of the Sengoku and Azuchi-Momoyama Periods was not, in fact, a man. "What next? Francis Drake? Emperor Nero of Rome? Attila the Hun?" he asked sardonically. "I mean, King Arthur is one thing, since… _she_ existed so long ago, but _Nobunaga_? How…?"

Matou Shinji would be the first to admit that the Maiden of the Tree, who had been kind enough to grant him an audience _,_ was both ancient and wise, learned in forgotten histories and the mysteries of the arcane, but this new wrinkle was…disorienting.

Almost more disorienting than the place where they were: a chamber set into the black stone walls of the great geofront in which _Mahoutokoro_ had been built, with one transparent wall revealing the breathtaking vista of the city below. About 20 meters long and wide, it was an unusual place, with the floors, walls and ceiling polished almost to a mirror-smooth finish and etched with silver sigils, the design on the floor taking the form of the five elements cycle, and that on the ceiling, a symbolic representation of the tree and the city around it.

For lack of a better word, it could be called Matsuo Hijiri's private office, accessible only via a secured portal in her shop, _Root of the Sky,_ and even then, only with her express permission.

Few knew this place even existed, much less set foot in it, with most who needed to meet the Maiden doing so in her rather unassuming shop, but it was to here that Matou Shinji and his familiar had been summoned to discuss the events at Avebury, with the boy sitting in _seiza_ at the very center of the room facing the light, with his familiar beside him invisibly as the Matsuo-san and _her_ familiar walked about the room.

"Kaiduka, perhaps you would care to explain?" Matsuo Hijiri asked as she looked out on the city below, her form silhouetted by the light of the cavern. Clad in a long red, slightly pleated skirt tied with a bow, a white haori and white ribbons in her hair, she was the very picture of a youthful shrine maiden – with only her eyes hinting at her true age and the authority she held. "After all, you were the mother of her children."

Shinji's head shot up at this, his face taking on a strange expression as he tried to reconcile _that_ statement with what he knew, given that Kaiduka was a _male_.

"Wha…?" the boy replied eloquently."The mother of…?"

"Show him the form you wore then, Kaiduka," the Maiden of the Tree commanded, with Shinji glancing

over at the vulpine form of the five-tailed _kitsune_ who styled himself Second Owner of Kyoto and Guardian of _Mahoutokoro_ as the fox _changed_ before his eyes. What he became was someone Shinji had never seen before: a slender redhead of breathtaking beauty dressed in a formal blue kimono, whose face and form resembled nothing so much as what Shinji thought Fujou Kohaku might look like in a few years' time.

' _What.'_

"As you desire, Matsuo-sama," the newly transformed woman acquiesced quietly, her voice carrying an odd accent to his ears. "Hello, Matou Shinji."

Shinji swallowed.

"Hello," the boy voiced, his mind trying to make sense of the sight before him. Intellectually, he knew that _kitsune_ were masters of disguise and transformation, but that was a far cry from having that demonstrated to him. "You…if you were…the mother of Nobunaga's children, wouldn't that make you…Ikoma _Kit—"_ The boy blinked, falling silent as he realized what the name of the woman was. "Kitsuno."

"Written in the same hiragana as _kitsune_ , yes _,_ " the transformed Kaiduka admitted. "In my defense, I was rather young at the time, and so thought myself cleverer than I was."

"…a part of me thinks I probably shouldn't ask, but… _how_?" Shinji all but demanded. "If she was a woman, how were you the _mother_ of her children?"

"You do recall Cath Palug's explanation about how King Arthur managed to produce an heir, yes?" the comely _kitsune_ inquired solicitously.

"Well, yes. He gave her a pen—" Shinji fell silent, his mouth working up and down without any sound emerging. After nearly a minute, the boy managed to find his voice again. "So. You and Nobunaga."

"I suppose the other way around would have been more natural, but it would have been…impractical…for Nobu-chan to fall pregnant with her lifestyle," the _kitsune_ explained, somewhat sheepishly.

"…that might be true," the Matou boy allowed, shaking his head. "So this is why Nōhime was barren?"

"Indeed," 'Ikoma Kitsuno' acknowledged, her golden eyes soft as she looked long into the past. "Nōhime and Nobunaga were never really on the best of terms. Theirs was a political marriage, where neither understand one another, and Nobunaga preferred the company of her counselors and generals to her wife." The _kitsune's_ face soured. "Even if in the end, one of her generals betrayed her."

"Akechi Mitsuhide," Shinji supplied from memory. "A childhood friend of Nōhime."

"Indeed. It was his guise that Toroi-kun borrowed to seduce Nōhime all those years ago," the _kitsune_ said bitterly. "I suppose I cannot judge him, given her great beauty, as well my affection for Nobunaga herself, but in the end, it was that unfortunate entanglement that led to Nobunaga's death, when Nōhime offered the real Mitsuhide her hand and support if he would but slay Nobunaga." Kaiduka – or Ikoma Kitsuno, rather – laughed bitterly. "The rest, you know as the incident of Honnō-ji."

"I see," Shinji noted, taking a moment to process all of this. "Something doesn't quite make sense though."

"Yes?"

"I remember reading that Ikoma Kitsuno died in childbirth, but…you clearly aren't dead," the boy remarked, recalling his history lessons. "So…"

"I loved Nobu, but we had our differences," the _kitsune_ answered distantly, reverting to his usual form as a bone-white five-tailed fox. "And so, I thought it better that I appeared to die, with us remembering each other well, than for us to grow to hate each other in our roles as the Devil King of the Sixth Heaven and a servant of Inari."

"I see."

"I rather doubt you do, Matou. Still, this meeting was about more than Nobunaga, as I recall," Kaiduka stated solemnly. "The incident you bring up is an interesting one. Toroi-kun has collected stories of such gateways – imitations of things like the geofront of _Mahoutokoro_ is as a whole – but there has been little proof of these formations being gates to the spirit world. Until now, that is."

"It would seem that only a fusion user – or one who otherwise has close ties with the spirits – may utilize them," Matsuo Hijiri noted. "Yet to my knowledge, this is not taught in the West, is it?" she asked, with Shinji shaing his head. She paused for a moment, eyes the color of dried blood looking upon the empty space to the left of Matou Shinji. "Zelkova, you mentioned communing with the spirits of one of Britain's ancient woods. Do you have an explanation for this?"

The _kodama_ materialized his humanoid form and bowed deeply to the Maiden.

"The trees do not have the full story," Zelkova said simply. "They see only what passes into their purview, and what other spirits shared with them before they expired. From what I gleaned, however, there was a great conflict among their brethren, pitting those who aligned with the spirits against those who used the false echoes."

"Oh?"

"The trees…shared memories of hordes of practitioners of witchcraft turned against their kin. Memories of streaks of terrible green light striking those joined with the spirits, and psychic screams. Memories of blood, terror, and pain, from the Continent," the _kodama_ shared. "It was a terrible conflict that spanned decades, but at its end, the few who had used fusion – those who had once been their leaders – were dead. The western wizards went into hiding, and the knowledge of fusion was lost."

"You're saying that they turned against themselves. But…why?" Shinji asked tonelessly. He'd known that Wizarding Britain had no fondness for the inhuman, but to know that they had engaged in some kind of war over it…

"Because they were afraid of something worse," Zelkova related.

"The Church, no doubt," Kaiduka all but hissed. "I can see it in my mind's eye. Those who could use fusion – those joined with nature – those who stood as the peers of magi, would have heard the suffering of the spirits at the hands of the enemy. They would wish to join the struggle against the Church, while those who could not would have wanted no part in a war they did not see as theirs. And so they betrayed their brethren."

Shinji felt his blood turn to ice at the thought of such a thing.

"But…why?" he asked. "Why would people do that to each other?"

"Fear," Kaiduka said. "The nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes and cripples, which causes cowards to tear down those who do not wish to bow their heads and hide, who do not seek not to go quiet into the night. Cowards, did I say? No. Worse. It seems that these ancestral users of witchcraft prioritized their own interests over joining with the other magic users against a common enemy, allowing the fight against the Church to be borne entirely on the shoulders of the Association."

"In the chaos of that great war, no one would notice a few deaths, or small-scale conflicts that took place far away from any great conclaves. Those who died at the hands of their brethren were likely assumed to have died in conflict with the Church," Matsuo Hijiri concluded solemnly. "Following their victory, the practitioners of witchcraft in Europe set up their own society, driven into hiding by necessity. Not hearing from their former allies, the magi must have assumed that they had died and turned their attention to the Church."

"And in their turn, those who used wands would stomp out the knowledge of fusion, given that those who attained such power might expose their society to a world far more dangerous than they were prepared to deal with," Kaiduka reasoned, shaking his furry head. "Any mention of it wiped from their histories, lessons, their memories, with social levers, like prejudice against the inhuman, used to enforce their new norms."

"You mean…like saying those who had a mindset suitable for fusion were loony?" Shinji realized, a sense of utter cold running down his spine. "Or saying those who sought to use arts connected to the inhuman – or that marked them as having a connection – like Parseltongue – as Dark?"

"Precisely," Kaiduka explained. "And with the betrayal of those who had joined with them, the nature spirits themselves would also largely withdraw to the Other Side of the World."

"I…" Shinji began, his mouth dry with the implications of that. "That…"

"There was no such conflict here," the fox said solemnly. "Here in the East, the Church's influence was minor, at best, and so those with magic circuits lived alongside those born of nature. The doorways between worlds remain open. This city remains. We remain."

"This place is ancient, isn't it?"

"Indeed. More than you know, child. More ancient than the fairy rings, more ancient than mortal memory, it is a fragment of an age that has not truly passed _,"_ the _kitsune_ noted. "Yet we do not – cannot – hide here, and refuse to be aware of the rest of the world. Hence, what was mentioned – this Grail War that you will participate in – is worrisome."

"Indeed," Shinji agreed quietly. "Especially since it has been said that the chalice – the Grail – may overflow with the tainted wishes of mankind. That the sum of all fears awaits and the devourer stirs." The boy shook his head. "Ordinarily I wouldn't worry, since the Grail War only comes once every 50 years or so, but…" He touched the spot on his shoulder where Command Seals had manifested. "I have been marked, which is a sign the War will soon be coming."

"That is certainly…concerning," Hijiri agreed, turning away from the view of the city to face the Matou scion. "Thank you for telling us of all this, Matou Shinji, but be warned."

"Mm?"

"The time is coming when you must make a choice," the Maiden of the Tree intoned. "A choice of which world to remain in and down which path your fate will lie. You have chosen to stand apart from Britain, rejecting their offer of citizenship. You have chosen to deny your family. But in the end, where will you belong?"

"There isn't a place where I fit completely," Shinji admitted. "I do appreciate everything you – both of you – have done for me, but in the end, I don't know if I'll remain in _Mahoutokoro._ I will always be thankful, but…in the end, I think the place where I belong has yet to exist, meaning I have to make it with my own two hands."

"A child of the twilight, then?" Hijiri said after a moment of silence. "Not of day or night? Well, that too is a choice."

"So long as you find your place," Kaiduka noted. "Though should you wish it, there is a place in the city for you. Your services to the Fujou require that much."

Shinji bowed, deeply.

"I am grateful."

* * *

After the meeting, Matou Shinji found himself wandering through the streets of _Mahoutokoro,_ thinking about what had transpired, and all that was yet to come. The Potions Championship. The Grail War. Possibly a conflict with TATARI, or some other great enemy, depending on what Sokaris desired. Even Britain going to war.

In the end, who was he to participate in all these things? He was only a teenager, after all, and for all that he was more mature and more powerful than a number of his peers, he knew there were those far beyond him.

He'd seen that much at the Quidditch World Cup, when he'd seen the demonstration put on by Sajyou Ayaka and Elesa Labelle, who casually wielded powers he found it hard to even imagine.

' _Even with everything I've done, they're still ahead of me, eh?'_

He _had_ come a long way since he first set foot in _Mahoutokoro_ and bought a tome on _ofuda_ , but was it far enough?

Somehow, the boy wasn't so sure.

Not when Luna and George seemed to be catching up at a rapid pace, something that frustrated him as much as he enjoyed the challenge. He knew he wasn't always the best student, but how was he supposed to one day reach Sokaris' side if others continued to surpass him.

And so, without conscious thought, his feet brought him to a vast pile of rubble and debris that wouldn't look out of place in a warzone. Pieces of brick, dust, stone, wood and more were strewn about, as if a giant had sat on a house and so thoroughly crushed it that rebuilding was impossible. At first glance, it looked as if the ruin had been picked clean, leaving behind only the rusting wreckage of what had once been something more.

And had he not been here before, he would have walked right past it – but he had.

This was ' _The Dust Pile',_ the bookstore cum personal fiefdom of the enigmatic Surein Toroi, from which he had acquired his primer on _ofuda._ He stood a respectful distance from the property, looking at it with a considering eye, and then, with a nod, decided to approach.

* * *

In the years since he had last been to _The Dust Pile,_ the boy had seen many strange and wonderful things. The castle of Hogwarts in all its splendor. The Room of Requirement. The Tower's Winter Gala, with True Magicians in attendance. Fusion. The ruins of Avebury. Even the islands of Tahiti and the thick and ancient woods of Shiretoko - and more.

And yet, despite everything he'd seen, the boy couldn't help being struck with wonder as he stepped inside, as it was still the grandest collection of books he'd ever seen in his life. Though it was much more than simply a bookstore or a library, given that to his trained senses, the shop felt like another world entirely, a place where the common sense of the world without did not hold sway, where the usual rules and limitations of reality didn't quite matter.

Within the shop, there was a strange hush, a silence heavier than any mere absence of sound, redolent with the spicy aroma of slowly, imperceptibly decomposing leather and paper, of hundreds of tons of dry ink, or clay and stone.

To him, it was as if the shop were some sort of place nestled between illusion and reality, with the thaumaturgic weight of the rules and processes and arcane lore gathered here, and bound up in leather and vellum and ink, serving simultaneously as an anchor to the known world and as something that set it apart.

' _Like it is floating on the surface of the world, but not part of it, with the books as ballast…'_

Stranger still, the store seemed almost alive, with the boy being all too aware of the hundreds, no thousands, no tens of thousands of books – or more – and the volume of knowledge they must contain.

There were books everywhere.

Not a centimeter went unused, with every available surface covered with a tome of some sort. Some were modern, printed in the last few years. Others were unspeakably ancient, bound in some material he thought might be…skin? Some were the volumes he was used to, others were scrolls, or even tablets.

The walls and columns were bookshelves, with the ceiling composed of many, many huge tablets carved with delicate writing in forgotten tongues and alphabets that had long since passed from the memory of modern man, the knowledge of distant times and strange aeons in a script that seemed almost to shift before his eyes.

On the shelves, he could see creamy spines, leather spines, knobby and ribbed spines, jacketed and bare, gilded and plain, blank spines and spines crammed with text and ornament. Books as thin as magazines, some were wider than they were tall.

On the counter, row upon row of weathered scroll cases, gathered over the years, with one or two seeming to be in a space too wide, as if there used to be others there, neighbors that would grace this place no more, lost to the world.

Lost to time.

With every step he took further into the store, Matou Shinji found his consciousness expanding, a sensation not unlike joining with the ring of Avenury, as his mind sought to join with the ineffable. Yes, the age of this place was beyond him, something he could not even begin to see, or know, or understand, but the knowledge here – the sheer weight and volume of it all – _whispered_ to him, seeming to promise that if he just surrendered himself to it, opened himself without reservation, it would show him things beyond his capacity to even imagine.

For him, a Ravenclaw – a child of a magus – that promise was an irresistible siren song, as he felt himself falling deeper into its spell, his mind opening up, listening closer, concentrating harder, stretching itself fur—

"You know, I distinctly remember telling you not to come again," a voice broke in, with Surein Toroi himself, the proprietor of the Dust Pile, making himself known with a frown. "Especially since you don't seem to be able to resist the power gathered here." The shopkeeper, a small fellow who seemed much too young to be in, much less own, a place like this, shook his head. "But then, I should have known better than to expect one of Aozaki's apprentices to heed my warnings. She never did, after all."

Much like the last time they had met, he was dressed in much the same ensemble as last time, a double-breasted navy blue dress jacket and slacks reminiscent of a centuries-old uniform of some European power, with his green-blue eyes, shaped almost like those of a cat, narrowing as he studied the intruder.

Shinji shook his head, clearing it of the fog that had almost overcome him, focusing his attention on the young man before him.

A man that, if Kaiduka was to be believed, was hundreds of years old.

"So you're the one who had an affair with Nōhime?" the boy said absently, only to grimace as he realized what he'd just said.

Surein Toroi froze for a second, his gaze growing cold as he glared at the boy.

"The fox said something, didn't he?" the shopkeeper said tonelessly.

Shinji just nodded.

"All I'm really going to say is that it's not really your business," Toroi grumbled, his expression growing less hostile as he shook his head. "I don't particularly like unannounced visitors, as you know, but I _suppose_ as a courtesy to Aozaki, I can overlook the discourtesy."

"…I'm sorry," Shinji offered, looking down. "I didn't know…"

"Bah. How like your Master to not pass along such basic things," the shopkeeper huffed. "Still, you're here now, and I don't think you just _happened_ to wander in, did you?"

"No." Shinji shook his head. "I'm…I'm looking for something."

"Something," Surein Toroi repeated. "Not particularly descriptive." He paused as he sniffed the air, his lips curving into a frown as he crossed his arms. "What happened to the ofuda text I sold you? The one you have now isn't the proof copy."

"I...traded it as the price for another item," the Matou boy admitted, getting the feeling that the shopkeeper would see through any lie he told.

"What shop?" the other asked sharply.

"I don't remember the name exactly, just that the shopkeeper was a woman who talked about coincidence, destiny and kotodama," Shinji said apologetically. "I don't know her name either."

"I do," Toroi grunted. "So you visited Yuuko's shop, huh? I hope what you bought was worth it."

"…I'd like to think so," Shinji replied. Rin hadn't actually made much use of the owl he'd given her, as far as he knew, but…at least it had impressed her? Not that that hadn't led to some of the current awkwardness between them, but…

"Right then, you're looking for something to make you stronger, I assume?" the shopkeeper inquired brusquely.

"Ah. Yes, that's right," Shinji blinked. "How did you...?"

"One, I know your type," the shopkeeper said quietly. "And two, words have power. And to those with ears to hear, they sing a siren song. I know the melodies I craft, child, and their derivatives. Just as you can hear the song in this place, where so much has been gathered, so can I hear the knowledge you have gathered, and that which you seek."

"...you said something last time," Shinji recalled, swallowing. "Something about the song consuming me if I sought it before I was ready."

"Indeed," Toroi intoned. For a moment, it seemed as if he would say nothing more, but when Shinji didn't react, the shopkeeper sighed and began to explain. "In the moonlit world, the secret world, or even in the world above, knowledge is not always harmless," he said, all of which Shinji knew well. "Especially not knowledge of mysteries, which cannot be wholly divorced from the might of those mysteries themselves."

"Hm?"

"Take the example of the Akashic Records, the void from which all things arise. It is a collection of knowledge from across strange aeons of time, and from many civilizations, but it pales when compared to the font of every possibility, every event, every life that was or will, or might be - the infinite possibilities of the future," the shopkeeper elaborated. "A collection of knowledge so potent that those who reach it are undone, save if they turn away and achieve Magic."

"Yes – I know of Akasha, but…" Shinji paused as his mind caught up to his mouth. "Wait…are you saying that this place was constructed as a shadow of Akasha? That all the knowledge collected here is…power?"

"A pale imitation only," Toroi shrugged, frowning as he examined Shinji closer. "Much like the faery rings, I am given to understand. But you would know firsthand, wouldn't you? After all, you bear the mark of the Other Side."

"How do you…?"

The shopkeeper waved a hand dismissively.

"In the West, there was once research to try to replicate the abilities of fusion users without needing spirits, you know?" Surein Toroi said after a moment. "The awareness of the world, the effortless extension of thought into action, the ability to walk into the Other Side or draw upon its power. All this and more. The wand was one of the early fruits of this, but after that…"

He shrugged.

"...what happened to this work?" Shinji asked, thinking back to the conversation he'd had with Matsuo-san and Kaiduka.

"Abandoned," the shopkeeper intoned. "By the time this later work was being worked on, what you call fusion was no longer something that was done in the west. The knowledge of it had long been forgotten, and without that as a base, our research ended in failure. Certainly, none of those who stepped through the Veil ever returned, as the Other Side was too much for them."

"I see..." Shinji murmured. "So…how do you know about it, then?"

"Stories. Old ones almost forgotten in Old Rus," the shopkeeper said grimly, shaking his head. "The West may have forgotten, but I made a journey to the East a long time ago, child of the Zolgen."

"…you knew the Zolgen?" Shinji asked, trying to sound calm, though his heart was pounding furiously.

"It was a long time ago, before they were driven out of Kiev by the Templars," Toroi related laconically. "But enough about such things. Knowledge is not free, and you have not come to learn of the histories of the West."

"Right," Shinji admitted. "Since your book on ofuda was so helpful to me, I was hoping that you would be willing to help me find something a bit more...advanced." The boy glanced around. "If you could spare a moment, that is. For what it's worth, I am sorry about coming in unannounced."

The shopkeeper looked at the Matou boy for a long moment, his eyes taking on an unearthly shade of blue as he seemed to stare into the other's soul. Shinji felt distinctly uncomfortable under the other's gaze, but before he could say anything, Toroi's eyes returned to normal, with the shopkeeper nodding.

"Very well. I suppose it _is_ nice to be appreciated every now and then," Surein commented, carefully schooling his features back to neutrality. "You are...yin aligned, correct?"

"...that's right," Shinji said, blinking.

"It is part of the song you weave, the pattern you project into the world," the other explained, answering the unasked question. "You've been trained in it as well, which helps. Aside from that, however, the answer lies in my eyes – eyes that can perceive the potential you have to actualize the mysteries of the world, and the channels you have available."

"Ah, so..."

"Putting it bluntly, I can see your capacity, what you have used of it, and such things."

"I see."

"Is there anything in particular you are looking for? Any requirements you have in mind?" the shopkeeper asked, raising an eyebrow. "It would be helpful to narrow down the selection to something manageable out of everything…available."

"...preferably something I might be able to learn the basics of quickly, since I might find myself using it by January," Shinji voiced, wondering if he could truly have anything mastered by then. "Also, preferably something that won't kill me or drive me mad."

The shopkeeper fixed Shinji with a piercing glare, a dour expression writ across his face.

"You are aware that the arts in general are capable of both?" he inquired sardonically.

"...with a smaller chance of it, then," Shinji amended.

"Well, I wasn't about to allow you to access the original Chinese translation of the R'lyeh text anyway, or the ancient tomes of Lost Carcosa, but I suppose I can make some additional accommodations for your young mind," Surein Toroi said, as he walked off, moving about the shop almost effortlessly, selecting a tome from one shelf, another from one of the buttresses, and pulling one out of a drawer – though he frowned after doing so, and put that one back, only to summon another from one of the high vaulted shelves by the ceiling.

"Come to the counter, boy," the shopkeeper intoned, bidding Shinji to follow, which he did, with Toroi placing three books before him.

The first was a royal-blue volume with silver-edged pages that almost seemed to chill the air around it. The letters _On Apparition and Flow-Walking_ inscribed on the spine and cover in spindly silver letters.

"Given your requirements, this one is most likely something you will find useful," Toroi explained. "It contains information on both Apparition and Flow-walking, including some suggestions for when to use each, and such. Movement techniques are…quite useful, as I have come to know, and synergize well with almost everything else one knows, especially if one ends up fighting Templars."

Shinji was about to say something, when the other placed another book in front of him, one with a featureless black cover and black pages that seemed to be completely covered in ink.

"This is _'Weaving Shadows: The True Arte of Darkness',_ a follow-up tome to _Becoming a Shadow: The Arte of Concealment and Misdirection_ ," Surein related tonelessly. "Given your ancestry and your alignment, I believe it may be suitable, with useful techniques that include binding others with their shadows, using the shadows as weapons, decoys, and such, and more. However, you may recall the stigma against this sort of thing in the West."

Shinji just nodded, as the shopkeeper setting down the last of the tomes, an earth-colored tome with bronze lettering embossed on the cover.

"Of course, there is this one, which contains notes on elemental decomposition," Surein Toroi commented. "Though I think being able to effectively make use of the text might be beyond you at this point."

"Elemental...decomposition?" Shinji echoed.

"The ability to reduce elements in magic, as you know them, to something more primordial, according to the paradigms of East and West," the shopkeeper explained. "In the East, the Elements are considered expressions of yin and yang, always in transition, while the elements in the West are themselves considered more solid, more foundational, and are simply combined with Ether and given form."

"So by reducing elements…"

"For example, breaking down elemental spells – or things created from these elements – into their constituent components, rendering them largely harmless, especially in conjunction with an ability that allows one to absorb, reflect, or otherwise use raw prana," Surein Toroi noted simply. "It is not as practical in the west if you do not have an Ether alignment or are not an Average One, but in the East, it is more common. To use it effectively would require a certain level of power and skill which I am not sure you have, however."

Shinji shivered. Elemental attacks, converting magical energy into a physical attack, were the go-to for most who fought at a higher level, since it allowed those individuals to bypass the innate magical resistance of their enemies.

For someone to have the ability to simply render these useless...

 _'...isn't this what Sajyou-san can do?' he wondered. 'But if it is...'_

"…is it limited by affinity in the East as well?" Shinji inquired. "You've mentioned that in the West, it is not something you can do unless you have an ether alignment, but…"

"Hmph. I did not expect you to grasp that much," the shopkeeper noted, raising an appraising eyebrow. "It is indeed. Those who are primarily yang aligned can decompose fire and wind - or wood, while yin holds sway over water and earth."

"...and what about someone who can use both yin and yang?" Shinji asked quietly. "Say someone who had mastered both aspects and could use them at a high level."

Surein Toroi was silent for a long moment, enough so that Shinji wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"Such an occurrence is extremely unlikely," the shopkeeper finally said. "Almost impossible, actually. It would be rare at best for anyone to be born with all elements in balance, and even then, there is the question of power, as the two aspects would tend to neutralize one another." He shook his head. "At least in the East, that yin-yang affinity is the basis of the elemental alignments." He paused again, as if considering whether so say more. "Still, if there was to be someone who could use both yin and yang..."

The shopkeeper fell silent as he mulled over the possibilities.

"...if there was someone who could use both yin and yang?" Shinji asked.

"...to such a person, the world itself must seem a fragile place," the shopkeeper said quietly. "Such a person would have few limits, if any, and what is a person without limits?"

"Free?" Shinji hazarded, with the shopkeeper giving him an odd _look._

"An interesting notion, I suppose," Surein noted, waving away the boy's suggestion dismissively. "But enough of this idle talk. Which tome are you most interested in?"

Each of them were quite tempting, given what possibilities they offered – things he would no doubt find useful in the future.

Flow-Walking was a supremely useful skill, from what he'd heard, a skill that allowed instant movement and combat mobility – something that was a natural extension of what Lockhart had taught him.

Shadow weaving seemed powerful as well, given the utility it held, and the possibility of using it for indirect attacks, to bind, drain, or hurt without touching the _person,_ as most didn't think to protect their shadows.

And Elemental decomposition was a supremely useful defensive skill – one that he thought Sokaris might know, since Atlas did study the conversion of phenomenon. As such, it was extremely tempting…

Given how little free time he would have between now and the Potions Championship, however, and all the things he was already learning, it was probably best to choose something simpler…and Surein himself had noted that he wasn't sure if Shinji had the skill for decomposition at present.

' _No. I need to choose something that will synergize with everything I am already learning, which I can use right away. Something that isn't just a new skillset, but can be applied to my existing techniques…'_

Which really only left one option.

" _On Apparition and Flow-Walking,_ please," Shinji requested.

The shopkeeper looked at him appraisingly, and nodded, dismissing the other volumes to their designated spots on the shelves with a wave of his hand.

"I rather thought that might be your selection, at least if you had a modicum of wisdom," Surein Toroi noted. "There is of course, the matter of payment…"

Those eight words set Matou Shinji on edge, as the last time he had ended up in an odd shop, the price had been…rather uncomfortable. Still, he recalled that the last time he'd been here, the shopkeeper had accepted the crystallized beads of prana used as currency in _Mahoutokoro_ for payment.

"You take _Mahoutokoro_ prana-based currency, yes?"

Surein Toroi nodded, bringing a sense of relief to the boy.

"I am also willing to trade for another tome like the one you have on you. One that smells of blood and soil," the shopkeeper said slowly. "For this tome, however, currency is fine."

"Ah, currency it is then," Shinji said, opening one of his mokeskin pouches and emptying out a good quantity of glowing orbs and beads onto the counter. "Hopefully this is enough?"

The youth ran his hand over the orbs to verify they were genuine, and smiled as he felt the power locked inside.

Satisfied, he placed the book on the scale and slotted the orbs one by one into the old, complicated-looking register on the counter, with the total coming out to three orbs and a handful of beads.

"You seem to have come into a bit of money," Surein commented as he handed the book to Shinji, noting one of the garments he was wearing. "How curious."

Shinji mulled over an idea for a second, recalling that Surein did indeed have a giant spider as a familiar – and perhaps had more.

"Actually…I had a question."

"Yes?"

"You have a number of giant spider familiars, yes?"

The shopkeeper nodded.

"Well, I had a bit of a business proposal," Shinji said, with the other wordlessly telling him to go on. "I'm sure you know about spider-silk clothing, but I was wondering if anyone in _Mahoutokoro_ had gone about blending it with something else."

"Like what?"

"Cashmere wool and brushtail possum fur," the boy noted. "What I'm wearing is only mulberry silk blended with those. Imagine spider silk."

"Intriguing," the shopkeeper allowed. "And you seek a partnership, with myself supplying the silk?"

"It was a thought," Shinji said quietly. "I have some on hand, but…it's not a renewable supply. So…are you interested?"

The shopkeeper eyed the boy curiously.

"You are an odd child, to be making such an offer."

"So I've been told," Shinji shrugged. "So…?"

"I will think on it," Surein Toroi said after a while. "You are working with Kaiduka, yes?"

Shinji nodded. He would be – and quite a bit – as there was only perhaps a month and a half left before he had to go back to Hogwarts.

…a month and a half to prepare for his duels with Tsuchimikado Hokuto and Tomas.

'… _not that I'd ever be fully ready for those, not if I had all the time in the world.'_


	22. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 22.** _Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts_

As she stood across from Matou Shinji in one of _Mahohutokoro_ 's larger practice arenas clad in the white uniform of upper division students at _Mahoutokoro_ , sizing up her opponent, Tsuchimikado Hokuto trembled with excitement at the thought of the match to come. Aside from her monthly duels against Peverell-dono, there were few things that truly allowed her to test her capacity.

Given her status as the granddaughter of the chairman of the Japanese Council of Magic, she was better trained than most of the students here, and the few who might be very nearly her peers often hesitated to oppose her with everything they had, as they feared the potential repercussions of any unfortunate...accidents, meaning she rarely encountered any serious challenge – her crushing defeats she suffered at Sajyou-sama's hands on the rare occasion that the Champion wished to spar notwithstanding.

Those "duels" with the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ reminded her of just how much distance there was between someone like her, considered one of the best duelists in the City – and someone like the Maiden of the Tree, the ancient fusion-user who ruled the City in truth. And without others who were willing to challenge her, to push her to her limits, forcing her to use every ounce of skill and power she possessed, she knew she would never reach the same heights as the one in whose footsteps she walked.

That was why she hungered for chances to face people who used strange magics and techniques vastly different from hers, people who were not afraid to challenge her with all they had, people from whom she could learn. People, in effect, like Peverell-dono, a young man who not only knew the combat techniques of the distant West to a degree beyond anyone she had ever met, but who was able to adapt what he knew to allow him to consistently defeat practitioners of a style alien to his own.

' _Most would find such a thing…difficult at best, given that humans are creatures of bias and subjectivity, with our notions of what is possible – and what is correct – being shaped by our experiences. As such, most western practitioners do not bother learning arts beyond those made possible by wands, as wand abilities are the foundation of their societies. Indeed, from what I have learned, the wand itself is the symbol of their power.'_

In the East, wands as the Westerners knew them were not given quite such reverence, though practitioners in _Mahoutokoro_ were known to use them from time to time, as students found them a useful supplement for their _ofuda_ and other more specialized tools, and it was necessary to know a few basics of wandcraft if one wanted to work with westerners. So it had been since the wandlore of the West (as opposed to more specialized _gohei_ used by Shinto priestesses for channeling, cleansing, or exorcism), had been imported by Dutch practitioners like Toroi-san long ago.

Being a skilled _onmyouji_ , not a western practitioner, she preferred her _ofuda_ , her _satori_ bond, and the techniques they made possible, with her skill with the wand being…adequate, but not comparable in any serious setting. Given her unfamiliarity with the wand, and what she considered its lack of flexibility and power, agreeing to duel Tomas Peverell had been a decision she'd made from simple curiosity – until of course, he'd defeated her – reminding her that victory in combat was not determined by who knew better techniques, but who could best apply what they knew to the situation at hand.

By now, she'd learned that most Western practitioners were not quite on Peverell-dono's level, but then, many Eastern practitioners weren't on hers either. And if he'd beaten her more often than not, he wasn't utterly beyond her abilities, as she had proven by besting him every so often – which gave them both a strong motivation to improve.

The young woman smiled, but dismissed thoughts of other encounters and other battles, focusing her almond-colored eyes on the opponent before her, a certain Matou Shinji, clad in his school robes. He had appeared as she had requested, on Halloween, honoring her with a duel before his return to Britain.

Were Matou Shinji just an average boy his age, an ordinary student at _Mahoutokoro_ or Hogwarts, without anything setting him apart from his peers, neither of them would be here, with him being too intimidated to face her, and her being quite uninterested in a match against someone who inevitably prove…uninteresting.

But the boy standing before her was anything but ordinary. He had been born in Japan, yet had gone to Hogwarts for his education, becoming so skilled in the Western Arts that he had become its Champion, being essentially the British counterpart to Sajyou Ayaka. He had obtained a _kodama_ as his familiar – a rare and powerful spirit, and much like the Champion of _Mahoutokoro,_ hehad unlocked the spirit fusion ability at an unusually young age. He had learned the arts of the mind from Peverell-dono, was considered an honorary member of the Fujou clan due to his generosity in healing Fujou Kirie and returning Fujou Shiroe to the ancient family, and in his hands, instead of a wand, he held…

'… _that craftsmanship! Matsuo-sama's…?'_

…an exquisite staff, a length of wood so dark it was nearly black, with runes and traceries etched onto the surface of the implement in silver, and a pale, silvery metal capping both ends. But this was no mere melee weapon, nor just a wand writ large. It was like – felt like – a _kodama_ 's…

' _A living weapon. He has a living weapon.'_

The realization sent a shiver down her spine, given the rarity of such instruments of power. Only fusion users had ever been known to use them, given that the creation of such weapons did not require mere metal, wood, and magic. No – such a weapon contained a portion of the familiar's soul, willingly given, and so, like fusion, was a symbol of deep trust and partnership.

' _He is not at the same level as Sajyou-sama, given how he reacted to the performance she gave at the Quidditch World Cup. Even so, if he is this powerful…perhaps I will finally have a challenge.'_

Her lips curved into a secret smile as she heard the far-away instructions from Kaiduka Shiosai, who had taken it upon himself to oversee this particular duel, and bowed, much as her opponent did.

"Begin!" the _kitsune_ intoned, and begin the two combatants did, as from both sides of the arena, a flurry of _ofuda_ hurtled forth from the sleeves of their creators towards the one to be opposed.

In both cases, the wave of onrushing talismans, while effective if not blocked, were meant mostly as a distraction to prevent their opponent from focusing on their larger strategies – which generally involved the deployment – and concealment – of _ofuda_ for field effects.

Given that Matou Shinji was trained in western techniques, she'd half-expected him to simply conjure fire and attempt to destroy her _ofuda_ , but it seemed the boy had other ideas, as a wave of darkness erupted from his form, causing her attack _ofuda_ to detonate prematurely when it struck them.

' _Yin manipulation?'_ the Tsuchimikado heiress wondered, as a few of her _ofuda_ appeared from what seemed like thin air, dark tendrils of power exploding forth from them and spearing through his oncoming talismans, with the shadows spreading from the point of contact to the _ofuda_ as a whole and turning them pitch black as they fell to the ground.

As if in response to this, the Matou boy activated the elemental _ofuda_ on his boots, with a thick black mist rose into the air, rich with prana, obscuring his form.

' _No doubt to give him a moment to prepare an attack of some kind.'_

Not that such a thing would be enough to defeat her, as she wrapped the air around her body, using her abilities to allow her to disappear from sight as she _flowed_ away to another location, but not before releasing three crackling spheres of wind into the mist.

With a whining siren-like sound, the spheres sped through their air, tearing through the mist and striking the figure at its center in an explosion of sound and cutting pressures, leaving the floor cratered from the force of the blow.

And yet, when the darkness dissolved away, the boy was unharmed.

Unharmed…but not untouched. For where Matou Shinji had once worn the school robes of Hogwarts, he was now clad in Japanese garments dyed a deep grey and a crown of horn-like branches, holding a scythe in his hands – and his eyes gleamed gold.

' _Fusion.'_

A particularly dangerous form to face, as it could see through her basic wind abilities – and indeed, the boy leapt towards her, the earth itself rising to help propel him through the air towards her new location, though before he could hit her, she _flowed_ away.

Behind him now, she unleashed a wave of dark _ofuda_ , which exploded into dozens of shadowy threads, all of which shot towards the boy, who simply cut them out of the air with his scythe, before the very earth erupted around her, obscuring her vision, along with a ring of spikes which threatened to skewer her, save that once again, she _flowed_ away – into a barrage of explosive _ofuda,_ the force of whichher reactive barrier of wind just barely turned aside.

Reacting on instinct, she flowed away once more, only to be met with another series of explosions, and another, and another.

' _But how…? '_

He shouldn't have been able to predict where she would go. No one should have, given that she could have _flowed_ to any of the invisible _ofuda_ she'd scattered before.

And so he hadn't.

Knowing he couldn't, Matou Shinji had merely launched a vast enough number of _ofuda_ into the air, so that no matter where she went on the field, some of his _ofuda_ would find her, especially with his newly enhanced senses.

' _Tch. It is a nuisance, certainly, but if I stood still for long enough to conjure a whirlwind, he would be upon me.'_

She couldn't stop moving – not when fighting a fusion user, given their superior levels of speed and their ability to shrug off many of the abilities she was capable of using. So instead, she _flowed_ back to the location she'd just previously cleared, appearing just long enough to deploy a _shikigami,_ before _flowing_ again, whereupon she was slammed unceremoniously to the ground, wave after wave of _ofuda_ rushing at her barrier of wind and blowing them away, until there was nothing left of them.

Just a fusion user standing above her, his scythe at her throat to keep her from flowing away, his glowing gold eyes looking down at her dispassionately as she met them unflinchingly with her own.

"Gold…you're a _satori_ user?" the boy murmured, before shaking his head as if to clear it. "But the more pressing question is this: do you yield?"

"I…" she began weakly, before her form exploded into razor wind – followed by thousands of all-consuming threads of shadow.

This close, he had no ability to dodge or evade, as the mass of darkness immobilized the boy, wrapping itself around his limbs and weapon and torso, tendrils piercing his skin and feeding off of his prana as even more emerged, snaking down into his nose, his mouth, his eyes, and Matou Shinji _screamed._

"Your first mistake," Tsuchimikado Hokuto's voice rang out a distance beside and behind him, as her form – untouched – appeared from the air, "was focusing too much on me and ignoring my shikigami. You saw it was no threat to you in fusion form, and so you prioritized me."

She watched dispassionately as the boy's body twitched and jerked, and Matou fell to the ground like a puppet with cut strings, the screams cut off as the dark threads burrowed their way into his throat.

"Your second," she continued coldly, though he was too far gone to hear her, "was meeting my eyes. As a fusion user, your strongest ability, more than your speed, your resistance, or your command over the elements, is being able to see the patterns of the world. As one bonded with a _satori,_ my gifts are more subtle in nature, with my strongest ability being to change how others see the world. The smaller the change, the easier it is to make."

For instance, letting him see her as beaten, as weak, building up his feelings of confidence and his certainty of victory, playing on the sensation of power offered by a fusion – allowing her to _switch places with_ her wind-clone shikigami without him noticing.

After nearly half a minute more, the shadowy threads receded, with Matou Shinji lying unconscious on the ground, no longer in fusion form, with the scythe having returned to its previous nature as a staff. It was a pity that her shadow puppet technique could not truly control a fusion user, since one mind could not truly dominate two, but then, she didn't need to.

All Tsuchimikado Hokuto's technique needed to do was tear away control of a portion of the consciousness, introducing enough discord into the union that the minds involved rejected one another, causing the fusion to break down – just as she had demonstrated.

"I suppose it was too much to expect to win against a fusion user without using my _satori's_ ability," the girl murmured, looking down at her opponent's vanquished form with a nod of respect. "That, too, shows me how far I have yet to go."

Not that she would have held back against Sajyou-sama, but then, she didn't think she could defeat the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ even if she were to go all out, given the other's mastery of yin and yang. At present, Sajyou-sama was far beyond her capacity – even if she was using the fullness of her abilities.

She turned to the figure of Kaiduka Shiosai in the distance and bowed, as the _kitsune_ called the match in her favor, though in the back of her mind, she wondered how Matou would do against Peverell-dono, and how a skilled practitioner of the Western Arts would do against Fusion.

* * *

Unfortunately for her, Hokuto would not get the chance, as Shinji had gone to face Tomas alone, after Kaiduka had examined him in one of the offices attached to the arena to ensure that the boy was physically – and thaumaturgically – capable of continued activity for the day, to say nothing of further combat.

"I'm fine," Shinji had insisted, waving off the _kitsune_ 's concerns as he sat up on the bed of the examination room. True, he was still unnerved, with the phantom pain of the Tsuchimikado girl's shadowy threads invading him, violating him, seeming to rip his mind apart – which is effectively how it had disrupted the fusion – still lingering, but he could work through it. Past it. He could, he was sure. "Really. I did use up a lot of my _ofuda_ in that last match, but I'm sure Tomas won't be that bad to deal with."

Kaiduka had just raised an eyebrow, before shaking his head.

"If you insist, Matou," the fox had said reluctantly. "I will concede that you are physically capable of combat, but the mental feedback from the forced dissipation…"

"Yeah. I didn't expect that," Shinji had admitted, rubbing his temples with his hands, hoping that it would make the headache – which felt like white hot knives digging into his brain – better, though predictably, it didn't. "Tell me something, Kaiduka. How did she do…that?"

"By ' _that_ ', I assume you are inquiring as to how she disrupted your fusion."

"Yes," Shinji had croaked. "Those threads…yin manipulation?"

"Yes. As you know, Yin manipulation is the basis of the sealing arts, Matou Shinji," the _kistune_ had explained. "Tsuchimikado Hokuto is very well versed in them, to the point that she can seal the consciousness of a human, turning him or her into a puppet, or as you have seen, disrupt an ongoing fusion. But then, her family has always been rather skilled at such things."

"…the Tsuchimikado family is descended from Abe no Seimei, aren't they?" the boy had asked, finally remembering something he'd been taught a long time ago.

"It is not for nothing that the head of that family tends to be selected as chairman of the Council, and the public face of the City," Kaiduka had said. "The people seem happy with it, as does Hijiri."

"You know, with how she controls the portals and is bonded with the Tree…" the Matou boy had mused, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and gingerly began to put some weight on his feet, wincing at the sudden change in position. "She seems to have more power than is publicly acknowledged."

"She prefers it that way," the fox had answered. "The Council defers to her if she has specific concerns or such, and does consult her for advice from time to time, but in general, she finds it easier to allow the Council to handle the day to day business of the City. Best to let humans deal with their own affairs, and _youkai_ with theirs, unless her presence is necessary."

"Hm. Interesting," Shinji had noted, shaking his head. "In any case, do I have your permission to see what Tomas wants?"

"If you insist," the _kitsune_ had allowed with some reluctance. "Have you asked your familiar if he is fine?"

At the mention of him, Zelkova had materialized from the air, looking rather less worse-for-wear than Shinji himself.

"More capable than Master, I would expect," the _kodama_ had replied. "I believe his mind took the brunt of the technique."

And so it was that Shinji found himself walking through the door of the private training area Tomas used, shifting his staff to ground a stream of lightning the puppet had loosed from his fingers.

"…an interesting way to greet someone," Shinji growled.

"Just wanted to be certain you were prepared, Matou," Tomas replied rather languidly, the stream of lightning ceasing as he looked over the boy he had once trained. "I witnessed your defeat at the hands of the Tsuchimikado heiress today. You underestimated her."

"Perhaps I did," Shinji conceded, nodding his head as he brought his staff to a ready position. "But…I don't think I underestimate you, knowing who you used to be."

"Indeed?" Tomas inquired. "Yet you are here."

"…you asked me to come," the Matou boy protested. "Something about testing my abilities."

"When your mind is in such pain that I can feel it radiating off of you?" the puppet asked. "You may be physically capable of fighting me. You may even have the prana to fight a long – though ultimately futile – battle, but your mind is nowhere near sharp enough for a match with one of your peers, let alone with _me_."

"I can defend myself just fine!" Shinji snapped, perhaps a bit more testily than he should have done. "Even if you are a feared practitioner of dark witchcraft."

"Well then, shall we test that hypothesis?" the puppet asked. Without warning, he launched a flurry of stunning spells at the boy, all of which Shinji deflected with his staff.

Matou Shinji retaliated with a number of explosive ofuda, which Tomas attacked with a wave of fire – only for the _ofuda_ – now burning with black fire – to keep coming at him, with the puppet wordlessly conjuring a wolf of living flames which absorbed the _ofuda_ into itself.

Shinji took a step back, surprised.

"Fiendfyre," Tomas said casually, as the beast rushed to attack the boy. It was quick – too quick for Shinji to step out of the way, it leapt at him, with Shinji barely managed to interpose his staff between himself and the fiery wolf…with both Tomas and Shinji startled by how the living inferno _disappeared_ on contact with the staff, with a layer of dark prana appearing around it.

"Huh," Shinji blinked, stunned by the fact that the beast's had been completely absorbed, to no ill effect. "I didn't actually think that would work. How did you know I wouldn't be hurt by that?"

"…I didn't," the puppet drawled, drawing a bone-white wand from his robes. "Still, I think we're done with the preliminaries, don't you? You've proven yourself somewhat competent, so I think I can get serious. Perhaps I will even use this, as I did against your friend."

"I didn't know you had a wand," the boy inquired warily, his attention fixed on the bone-white instrument as he launched a stream of silver, blue, and red spells from his staff, all of which Tomas simply deflected. "What's it made of?"

"Yew, with a phoenix feather core," the other replied with a hint of dark amusement. "13½ inches in length. Found on the body of a fugitive on the run from the West, or so I hear. A certain rat-faced fellow."

"A secondhand wand then?" Shinji asked, as the ground erupted under Tomas's feet – only for the puppet to apparate away with a distinctive _pop,_ leaving behind a few floating eyes that homed in on Shinji's position– which the boy dispelled with a simple knockback jinx or two. "Is that really the best you can do, Tomas?"

"No," a voice said from right behind him, with Shinji whirling around to face – empty air, as—

" _ **AHHHHHHHHH!"**_

—the boy fell to his knees, screaming as the puppet unleashed an all-out mental assault on the hapless boy, tearing through his mental defenses as if they were tissue paper.

Pain.

Yes, Matou Shinji's skill at Occlumency had developed to the point where he could ward off a casual probe, and perhaps something more pointed under normal circumstances – but these were hardly normal circumstances. Shinji's mind was already reeling from what had happened in his previous duel, and Tomas was not using a casual probe, but applying all his skill and power as a legilimens to fight on a field the boy was hardly prepared for.

In a response that was almost instinctual, the boy _transformed,_ fusing with his familiar and becoming more than he was, with the increased resistance protecting his mind from invasion by magical means as he became aware of exactly where Tomas was, and launched himself at the puppet with a speed born of raw fury.

A disturbing _squelch_ echoed as the scythe arced forward, slicing through Tomas' arm, with his right hand – and the wand held in it, flying off into a corner of the room.

With the thrill of battle rushing through him, and the pain stirring him to attack with everything he had, the boy rushed forward, slamming the puppet against a wall of stone that had risen behind him _with enough force to shatter bones_ , knocking the air out of him in the process.

With the puppet unable to recover, Shinji pressed the haft of his scythe against Tomas' throat with one hand, while grabbing onto the other's clothes with the other so he couldn't just get away.

This was it. Finally, he would win.

" _ **Yield!"**_ An enraged Matou Shinji growled, but there was no response, as the puppet could not speak, not with no air, and no ability to breathe. _**"Yield!"**_

And then a sickly green bolt slammed unerringly into Shinji's chest, the accoutrements of his fusion form dissolving into motes of light, staff clattering to the ground as the boy slumped lifelessly to the ground, leaving Tomas Peverell rubbing his throat in a room as silent as the grave.

' _I suppose I should be thankful he wasn't a killer at heart,'_ the puppet reflected, noting that even in the throes of utter rage, the boy's first reaction had been to disarm him, and then to offer him a chance to surrender. _'Unlike me.'_


	23. Tannhäuser Gate

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Triwizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 23.** _Tannhäuser Gate_

In a room of black stone, illuminated only by the silver lines of intricate traceries and the glow of a maiden's hands, eyes were slowly opened, with Matou Shinji awakening to reality as he found himself looking into a pair of startlingly blue eyes framed by a stylish pair of frameless spectacles.

The eyes of Sajyou Ayaka, whose face was lit by the glow of yang manipulation and who was clad in a shrine maiden's ensemble of white _haori_ and red, pleated skirt, with white ribbons wound through her raven colored hair.

"So, you are awake, Matou," the young woman remarked with what seemed like a muted sense of satisfaction, her face pulling away from his as she straightened.

Shinji wanted to ask what she was doing – and more to the point, how he had come to be here, but found that, save for his eyes, he could not speak or move at all. For that matter, the boy couldn't really feel his body.

It was if, except for his eyes, he did not exist at all.

But…why?

The last he remembered, he…

… _there was nothing there._

What.

How…was that possible? Confused, and more than a little frightened, he tried to think back to what had happened prior to this, but once again, there was just a blank expanse, a missing span of time.

' _Zelkova?'_ he hazarded, wondering if his familiar would be able to fill him in. But there was no reply. _'Zelkova? Are you there?'_ he asked again, reaching out with his mind for the spiritual connection they shared as Master and familiar, only to find that it too was gone. _'What's…what's going on?'_

"I am certain you have questions about your current state." Ayaka's calm, dispassionate voice cut through his incipient panic, with his mind clinging to it as something solid – something that _existed –_ in a world that otherwise seemed like a hazy dream. "Following an incident involving spiritual trauma from a then-unknown curse, you were sealed so that your soul and body could be examined for damage in detail. I was tasked with releasing the seal after you awakened and I had performed a final examination." She paused for a moment, as if she was debating whether or not to say something further, before resolving whatever inner conflict she'd had. "This may be…unpleasant."

With that, the light of Ayaka's yang _prana_ faded, and Matou Shinji found himself screaming as he _reconnected_ with his body, and raw agony shot through him, as if molten metal was being poured into his brain and was flowing through the channels of his nerves into every part of him. Yet that screaming was drowned out by the incredible discord in his mind, as disconnected images, disjointed impressions, names, faces, facts flooded into him all at once, like white hot spikes being driven through his skull one-two-ten at a time.

 _Pain_.

Threads of fine-spun shadow ripping into him, leaving his soul raw and bleeding.

Golden eyes.

A _satori_ user.

Overconfidence.

Illusion.

Defeat, snatched from the jaws of victory.

Echoes of psychic anguish replayed over and over and over.

Violation. Violation. Violation.

Rage.

Fusion.

A sickly green flash.

Darkness.

After what had seemed some interminable abyss of time, but was in reality only seconds, the cascade of thoughts, sensations, and memories ceased, leaving the boy incredibly weary, with his mind still reeling from what had to be the worst headache he'd ever experienced in his entire life, and his body heavy and barely responsive.

Still…at least he could move, even if finding the energy and will to shape such an impulse was…difficult.

"I…a duel," he managed to rasp, his throat feeling like raw sandpaper. "I was…fighting." He'd used fusion in response to something that had seemed utterly terrible at the time, but then…. "What…happened?"

He had been _winning_ , with the puppet disarmed and crushed against a pillar of rock he'd raised. So how had he…lost?

Tomas, as powerful as he was, was only a practitioner of witchcraft, which meant that the physical and magical resistance granted to him by his fusion with Zelkova should have been enough to stop almost any attempt the puppet made at hurting him. That should have been the case even if Tomas had still been armed with a wand, given how it was well known in the moonlit world that an inferior illusion – like one cast with the assistance of one of the "false echoes" – would be rendered meaningless when pitted against a greater mystery – which fusion _was_ , given how it allowed those with fey or youkai blood to achieve a regression to a more primal form.

And without the wand, without any amplification whatsoever…

'… _there shouldn't have been anything, any spell, that could…'_

His thoughts trailed off as he willed himself to a sitting position, fighting the urge to throw up as he forced power into his muscles, with Ayaka moving to help support him, a gentle pulse of yang _prana_ taking the edge off his nausea.

"It seems that Peverell-san used a Western spell which bypassed the defenses of fusion by striking at its one conceptual weakness," the young woman explained quietly. "A spell which if used against most other individuals, commonly result in death."

"…Avada Kedavra," Shinji supplied, recalling the flash of sickly green. He was silent for a time as his mind processed the fact that the deadliest spell of wizardkind could, in fact, affect users of fusion, as well as how, despite this, he was apparently still alive. "But if I was hit with the Killing Curse, and it could bypass my defenses…"

'… _why am I not dead?'_

"Are you aware of the mechanics of the spell?" Ayaka questioned, stepping back from him, her form becoming somewhat indistinct as she moved into the shadows.

Matou Shinji could only shake his head.

"That wasn't part of the curriculum," he answered quietly. "All I know about it is that it is supposed to cause instant death, and cannot be blocked by any conventional magical defense, aside from spell deflection." Shinji paused then, recalling the curious case of his friend, the infamous Boy-Who-Lived. "Though given that Harry has survived being struck by it twice, it's not foolproof."

"Oh?"

"The first time was because of his mother's sacrifice," the boy said, recalling what Harry had told him. "The second…? I do not know. Perhaps a residual protection from that."

"Was the spell cast by the same individual in both instances?" Ayaka questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"…yes," Shinji replied after a moment. He supposed a possessed Quirrell would count as Voldemort, in any case.

"Curious," the young woman noted. "Though explainable, given the information you have supplied and the mechnics of the curse."

"Tell me."

Sajyou Ayaka eyed the boy for a moment, before nodding and launching into an explanation.

"What you call the Killing Curse functions by severing the connection between a soul and the vessel in which it is contained, disrupting the union of spirit and flesh necessary for life," the _kitsune's_ apprentice noted. "When used against one employing fusion, however, it has a somewhat different effect, given that in fusion, the human and the spirit involved are joined together on a conceptual level, with the spiritual body of the familiar merging with the physical form of the master to create a new entity altogether. As such, when the Killing Curse is cast…"

She trailed off, waiting to see if Shinji would grasp the meaning behind her words.

"…it is this union that is 'killed', not the individual parts," the boy realized, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "I…never thought of it that way before."

"As for your friend, a sacrificial protection would function as well, though it would be more appropriate to refer to it as a curse," Ayaka noted. "You have mentioned that the Killing Curse can be deflected by spells – presumably those used offensively?"

Shinji nodded.

"Consider this then. The soul of the sacrifice would temporarily join the target of the protection, and in reaction to a spell that sought to harm the target, would not defend – but attack. If this Killing Curse sought to sever the connection between a soul and the target vessel, it would instead trigger the detachment of the protecting soul, resulting in a reaction that not only reflected the spell but which would cause significant harm to an area."

Thinking back to the damage done to the house at Godric's Hollow, as well as what Harry had said about the damage done to the final chamber where the Mirror of Erised had been stored, Shinji thought this made some degree of sense.

"This…protection, would have to be powered by an absolute willingness to sacrifice the self, wouldn't it?" he found himself asking. "A conscious choice to lay down one's life for the sake of another."

"Indeed. Few humans are so pure in their devotion, that they would simply accept death in that manner, not without seeking some alternative," Ayaka noted, her words resonating with something deep inside Shinji. "In most cases, they would resist their end. That is what it means to live, after all. For something to overcome that impulse…"

Such a case would be extremely unusual, even if one were considering a parent's love for a child.

After all, the man who had supplied half of Shinji's genetic material – who he refused to think of as a father – had never loved him in that way. As for the woman who had been his mother…he had never really known her. All he'd known about her, about Aisaka Mariko, he'd learned from Flitwick, who had known her when she was a student at Hogwarts, not from those who had once been his family.

But the boy shook his head, setting those thoughts aside. There would be time to think about such things later, when he wasn't…here. For now, though…

"What about Zelkova?" he voiced, concern evident on his features, since he could not feel the _kodama_ at all. "Is he…?"

"Your familiar lives," Ayaka replied, as a sense of sheer relief washed over the boy's chest and face. "The interruption of fusion in such a way, however, had significant psychic aftereffects, with the _kodama_ bearing the brunt of them. He will likely be non-responsive for several days while he recovers."

"I see…" Shinji murmured, laying back and closing his eyes. "Thank you for telling me." The boy took a deep breath and sighed from weariness. "I don't know if your Master told you, but when Zelkova communed with the old trees of Britain, he mentioned that in the distant past of the isle, practitioners of witchcraft turned against one another, with wand users rising up against those who used fusion. And that in the end, the wand users won." His voice was distant, lost in recollection. "At the time, I wasn't sure how such a conflict could have actually been fought, unless those who communed with spirits were killed in their sleep, given the power they hold, but knowing that the Killing Curse can disrupt fusion…"

"It is likely this Killing Curse was key to the eventual victory of the wand users," Ayaka noted solemnly. "Especially with the numbers of one relative to another."

"Heh. Fusion users are rare, aren't they?"

"Indeed," the young woman confirmed. "As they have ever been, due to the difficulties involved acquiring a familiar and gaining its respect. You are more fortunate than you know to have borne the mark of Kaiduka's favor when you went on your journey, Matou Shinji."

"…that much I can believe," the boy agreed. "And even with that, I nearly…"

"Indeed."

"I guess the Killing Curse, something which could not be blocked by most defenses, and which could hurt even fusion users, would have been useful in times of conflict," Shinji said after a while. "But for a society in hiding…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I suppose that would explain why, when the Ministry of Magic took over from the Wizards' Council in 1717, it decided to classify the Killing Curse as Dark, making its use Unforgiveable, with a statutory penalty of a life sentence in Azkaban, no matter the circumstances," Shinji mused, recalling the relevant lesson from second year History of Magic. "It was always strange to me that Avada Kedavra was classified so, given how many ways there are to kill with magic, and how in every other case, factors like self-defense can be taken into account in sentencing. If it was the weapon of a long-forgotten war, I suppose it would make sense for the Ministry to try to suppress it…except that one spell is not as simple to eradicate as fusion, is it?"

It occurred to him that perhaps Lockhart could tell him more about the hidden history of the wizarding world, since the man was, after all, an Assassin, well-versed in the arts of death and war, on top of being an excellent History Professor. How much did the man know that he didn't share in class, Shinji wondered? And how, in this year, could he convince the man to tell him?

His mind supplied a simple answer: the Hidden Blade he possessed, that which Sokaris had called the signature weapon of the Order of Assassins – one of his grandfather's memento from Old Rus, which itself was based on the concept of disruption.

Already, the man had trained him, helped him learn the art of movement. Perhaps Lockhart would be willing to serve as his mentor, helping him integrate all the things he was learning into one coherent style?

' _In the end, Fusion is not an absolute trump card, no matter how powerful it is,'_ he noted silently. _'And I have few enough mentors these days. Master – well, Aozaki-san, is busy training Tohsaka, and even if she wasn't, allowing most of the moonlit world to believe the rumors of my demise is to my advantage, as I do not want to face the agents of the Einzbern before I am ready. Before the coming War.'_ As for others who could train him. _'Matsuo-san and Kaiduka-san have other responsibilities, and I don't really want to talk to Tomas right now, not after…what happened.'_

Which left Gilderoy Lockhart, the Old Man of the Mountain.

' _Sokaris did advise me to be cautious before showing the blade to an Assassin, given that such weapons were not simply given, but earned as part of one's initiation into the Order. If I had such a blade, but was not a member – and I do not think attempting to lie to an Assassin would be wise – I would be tested for my worthiness or recruited. I know that, but…'_

Matou Shinji didn't have a choice.

With the Potions Competition and the coming Grail War, he needed to get stronger, and he couldn't see anyone else who might be able to help him in such a short time, not with all the disparate skills and styles he was delving into.

' _To achieve my goals, to prove my worth, become strong enough to stand by Sokaris' side, I will show Lockhart the blade, and pay the price he commands. After all, I once swore that even if it cost me everything, even if the world became my enemy, I would be her ally. And what use is an ally who cannot even begin to approach her level?'_

"You have grown quiet, Matou." Ayaka's voice echoed through the chamber, becoming faint and more than a little ethereal. "I presume you wish to rest, before you return to Britain in two hours' time?"

The boy sighed deeply.

"If possible," he replied. "Though, you said two hours? Then right now, it's…eight in the evening?"

"Indeed," Ayaka confirmed. "Not a large sum of time to rest, if your preparations for departure are not complete."

Shinji groaned. Right now, he wanted more than anything to just sink into the land of dreams, where the pain would hopefully go away, or failing that, to sit in an _onsen_ and let the heat of a volcanic spring relax him, but…he wasn't actually done packing, even if he did plan to spend much of his time over the next few months in _Mahoutokoro_ , taking advantage of his Champion position to give him free access to Durmstrang back to Hogwarts, and his vanishing cabinet connections to go from Hogwarts to his manor, to _Mahoutokoro,_ it would look… _odd_ if he brought nothing along.

' _And we can't have people getting suspicious, can we?'_ the boy mused.

"Ok, I guess I won't be sleeping then," he grumbled, forcing himself up into a sitting positon once more, despite his muscles screaming in protest. "Speaking of preparations though…"

"Yes, Matou?"

"I will need the _Book of Potions_ returned before I go," he said, almost apologetically. "I will bring it back when I come over again, but officially, the book does belong to Hogwarts, so…"

"They will expect their Champion to have it in his possession when he arrives," the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ summed up.

"Well. Yes."

"The tome has already been delivered to your quarters," Ayaka noted matter-of-factly. "And the Maiden of the Tree will soon be opening a portal to return you there as well."

The boy inclined his head in gratitude.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Under other circumstances, I'd be fine with walking, but…"

"You don't even know where you are."

"That's about the long and the short of it."

* * *

It was sometime later that a rather frazzled Matou Shinji was deposited unceremoniously on the platform of Hogsmeade station, with a single trunk by his side and his staff reduced to the size of a small wand in his pocket. With the disorientation from the rapid travel, coupled with the blinding light of the afternoon, it was a wonder that he didn't end up sprawling to the ground in a tangled pile of limbs, but as it was, the boy was swaying back and forth unsteadily, trying to resist the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him.

' _And wouldn't that look great in front of everyone?'_ he thought sarcastically, the mortification of throwing up in front of hundreds of students and ruining his façade giving him renewed motivation to keep the contents of his stomach – empty as it was – from heaving up onto the ground. It took him all the effort he could muster just to do that, so much so that he almost fell over before a slim but surprisingly strong arm wrapped itself around his back.

"You alright there, Matou? Didn't think you were the type to suffer from Portkey sickness," the voice of Pansy Parkinson quipped from beside him, with Shinji looking over to see the face of the brunette that was holding him upright, allowing him to spend his energy on mastering his gut. "Bad day?"

It was a while before the boy was up to saying anything, but eventually the spike of nausea receded to something more manageable and he looked at the Slytherin with a wan smile.

"…you could say that, Parkinson," he said faintly, trying not to move with anything besides his eyes as he took in his surroundings.

His apparently deserted surroundings.

The Hogwarts Express was at the platform, certainly, and he saw some red robed figures on board, no doubt doing some kind of security check, but not a single one of his peers were present.

Not a one, save Pansy, that was.

"No welcoming committee for the long-absent Champion of Hogwarts?" he found the strength to joke, indicating his surroundings with a small gesture. "I'm almost hurt."

Under other circumstances, Pansy might have chuckled at his remark, but as it was, her lips just curved downwards into a small frown.

"That all the luggage you have?" she said instead, eying the single trunk Shinji had brought with him.

Shinji nodded weakly, with Pansy palming her wand from its wrist-holster and silently levitating the trunk with a flick. "Then let's get you on board the _Express_ before everyone gets here in half an hour or so."

Were he feeling much better, Matou Shinji might have been embarrassed at the close contact with a pretty girl, but as it was, he let her help him on board the train without protest, noting that the Aurors on the train simply stepped out of the way to let the two of them pass.

Pansy pulled Shinji into a compartment that he imagined was usually reserved for the Head Boy and Girl, given how luxurious it was in comparison to the others, and helped him into one of the comfortable couches before securing his trunk on a waiting luggage rack – right next to hers.

"Bit presumptuous, claiming this one for yourself, isn't it?" Shinji asked as the brown-haired girl sat down beside him. "Bit of a step up from what we usually get."

"Not presumptuous at all, given that as Potions Champion of Hogwarts, you're a bit of a VIP," Pansy explained quietly, using her wand to shut the door and draw the heavy curtains of the compartment closed. "I just happen to be the _Daily Prophet_ intern who was assigned to interview you about your training for the Tournament."

"Interview me?" Shinji echoed. "I'm sure people wouldn't be that interested in what I was doing," he said, shaking his head. That, and the comfortable darkness of the compartment, together with the plush comfort of the couch, was making him more than a bit drowsy, given that he was still very much recuperating from his long day. "And besides…"

"Yeah, I can see you're not feeling well," Pansy said, her eyes soft and understanding. "I don't deal well with Portkeys myself, but I thought you'd taken them before without too much trouble."

"Because of the time differences, I've usually had a full day in Japan before I Portkey to Britain," Shinji replied, leaning back into the couch as he closed his eyes. "Today was particularly bad though, with a couple duels that went badly. I'm still…not recovered from them." His stomach chose that moment to emit an embarrassing gurgle, with the boy's expression freezing. "…that, and I haven't had anything to eat. I guess travelling on an empty stomach really is bad for you, huh?"

"That's what they say," Pansy said easily. "Still, at least you're not one of the people who get Portkey-sick regularly."

"Portkey-sick?" the boy inquired. "I didn't know enough people used Portkeys regularly for it to be an issue."

"Well, we don't anymore," the girl answered, amused as she observed one of Matou's eyebrows lifting in interest. "A long, long time ago, right after the imposition of the Statute of Secrecy, the Ministry thought the best way to send children to school each year was via Portkey."

"…I take it that since we ride the Hogwarts Express these days, that didn't go so well," Shinji noted dryly.

"It really didn't," Pansy confirmed, chuckling as she recalled what Lockhart had told her over the summer. "From the beginning, there were problems with that approach, with up to a third of the students failing to arrive each year, either missing the timeslot or being unable to find the object that would transport them to the school. And even among those who managed to get to Hogwarts, many children were prone to 'Portkey-sickness', with the hospital wing filled to bursting for the first few days of every year."

"Portkeys would be inconvenient, for large groups, I suppose," Shinji admitted. "Out of curiosity though, how did the Ministry get children to school before that?"

"It didn't," Pansy replied.

"…oh?" Shinji inquired. "Then how…?"

"Each wizard or family kind of did whatever struck their fancy, I guess," the girl said softly. "Some probably rode broomsticks, as hard as that would be when carrying trunks and pets. Others probably drove enchanted carts or carriages. Some rode magical creatures. And some probably killed themselves trying to Apparate. Was all a bit of a mess, really."

"Sounds like something that would get practitioners of witchcraft noticed pretty quickly, too," Shinji observed. "Though…why didn't anyone just connect the school to the Floo network?"

"Resistance from the staff," Pansy explained. "None of the Headmasters wanted – or would have tolerated – an unsecured connection to Hogwarts, since it would be a major breach in the security of the castle. That's why there have been Anti-Apparition Charms protecting Hogwarts since the very beginning."

Shinji's face almost twitched at the mention of an unsecured connection, but managed to keep his expression neutral.

"Huh. So what happened after that? Did they build the Hogwarts Express?" Shinji inquired, before dismissing that possibility. "No, that doesn't sound right. I don't think the Ministry would know the first thing about building a railroad, or a steam engine for that matter. They wouldn't have commissioned it from non-magical people either, since that would be a violation of the Statute, so…"

Pansy looked around, drew her wand, and cast the _Muffliato_ Charm to prevent anyone from eavesdropping on the conversation, with Shinji opening his eyes in mild curiosity as the field of white noise went up, interested in what demanded such secrecy.

"…they stole it," the girl admitted in a hushed whisper. "From the Muggles."

" _What_ ," Shinji bolted upright at her words, his head paying the price for his sudden motion. "They _stole_ it?"

"Yeah."

"But…how?" Shinji frowned. What Pansy was saying was…quite a bold claim, to put it lightly. "For that matter, how do you…?"

"There are records at the Ministry about an operation ordered by Ottaline Gambol, a former Minister of Magic, involving a hundred and sixty-seven Memory Charms and a Concealment Charm," Pansy said at last. "Mission reports on the…procurement of Hogsmeade station and the locomotive and carriages that became the _Hogwarts Express._ "

"…these wouldn't happen to be secret records, would they?" Shinji inquired, now more than a bit suspicious.

"Maybe. I wasn't actually told – just that the Ministry shouldn't find out that I knew," Pansy said _sotto voce_. "And since you're a foreigner, with your own share of secrets, I'm sure you won't be reporting it to them, will you?"

"…I don't believe I will, at that," Shinji allowed. "Lockhart has kept me out of trouble quite a few times as it is."

"Lockhart?" Pansy echoed, her voice just a bit stressed. "Whatever do you…"

"He told you, right?" Shinji questioned, closing his eyes and leaning back once again. "You don't have to say either way, but from what I know, he's one of the few people in Britain who looks closely at the official histories and how things don't really match up. And one of the few who can get his hands on sensitive information. As for the _Express,_ anything else I should know?"

"Just that there was a decree the Ministry made that any student who wanted to attend Hogwarts had to ride the train," Pansy said, shrugging. "Apparently, some of the pure-blood families were pretty outraged at the idea that their children would be put into Muggle transport. Still, it worked well enough that they stole a few more trains and used them for things like the train on Platform 7½, which connects to wizard-only villages in Europe."

"Oh? And how do they do that?" Shinji inquired.

"The same way we're going to Durmstrang," Pansy explained. "A portal."

Shinji's eyes blinked open once more.

"A portal?" he inquired, frowning at the word. "I didn't know practitioners of witchcraft were able to make such things."

He rather thought portals were unique to _Mahoutokoro_ , with Matsuo Hijiri opening and closing portals around the world at will with her ability to control the City's boundaries and ways. Was it a more widespread method of travel after all?

"We don't, most of the time, and never for something as simple as transport within Britain," Pansy said with a shrug. "I mean, we have Vanishing Cabinets, but for anything on a larger scale, the magic involved in building and enchanting the physical gateways…prohibitive for anything besides international travel, where multiple Ministries bear the cost of construction."

"Huh. Physical gateways, you say?" Shinji echoed.

"Yeah. They're paired, like Vanishing Cabinets, with enchantments to open – and sustain – a connection between them when something with the right signal – like one of our magical trains – passes through," Pansy explained. "Making them for travel in Britain is too much effort for too little return, since we already have the Floo, and many of us can Apparate."

"Interesting," the Matou boy noted, before his thoughts fastened on something else his companion had said. "And we're taking one to Durmstrang? Did we build it just for the Tri-Wizard Tournament or something?"

"…something like that," Pansy noted. "The late Minister Fudge wanted Britain to show up the wizards from the other schools by showing we could afford to build a gateway just for the Tournament. Minister Malfoy saw no reason to discontinue its construction, after he had already conducted negotiations with the Ministry of Norway to have the far gate temporarily emplaced."

"Temporarily?"

"After we pass through, the Durmstrang end will be disassembled, with the parts sent back through the Vanishing Cabinet on board this train, and brought back to Britain," Pansy clarified. "It will be…impressive, I'm sure." She didn't sound entirely convinced though, which Shinji found interesting.

He also found the restriction on portals – the physical gateway mechanisms – an interesting limitation, one that Japan didn't share, thanks to Matsuo-san's abilities, as she could simply open portals between locations at will.

' _A major strategic advantage in terms of trade. Maybe that's why we get so many traders in_ Mahoutokoro _…though, I wonder if these were an attempt to reverse engineer what the fairy rings were capable of on a more limited scale. Toroi-san mentioned that there had been research into replicating the abilities of fusion users. Maybe these gateways are just one more example of this.'_

But he said none of this out loud.

"You sound a bit troubled, Parkinson," was what he voiced instead. "Anything going on that I should know about?"

"Aside from me being assigned to cover the Tri-Wizard Tournament as an embedded reporter, since Durmstrang is rather picky about foreigners being allowed onto its grounds?" the brunette asked slyly, with Shinji's lips curving up into a smirk.

"Aside from that, yes," he said sardonically. "Congratulations, by the way. One request though."

"Yes."

"Please don't make up terrible things about me to put in the paper."

"Oh, the Champion of Hogwarts shouldn't worry himself about little things like the press," Pansy said coyly. "Just give me an interview eventually, and I won't cause any trouble."

"So noted," Shinji replied gruffly.

"Good," Pansy said, "Maybe a spar as well, since I know you've trained under Professor Lockhart too. Better than getting my arse kicked black and blue by Lovegood. Though…I never thought I'd say this, but she's more sane than most of the others at Hogwarts these days, much less Britain."

"Oh?"

"Things are getting pretty tense around here," the Slytherin girl admitted. "Seventh years being drafted. The Ministry training an army at Hogwarts. A lot of anti-foreigner sentiment going around. A desire for revenge at any cost." She shook her head wearily. "That's partially why you're here so early, with only me to greet you. The Ministry is a bit embarrassed by you turning down British citizenship, and while they've downplayed you staying in Japan, aren't sure how the people will react to a foreign champion."

"I didn't realize it was that bad," the boy said in a hushed voice. "But then, I've been on the other side of the world."

"It's not that bad. It's worse. There's no more foreign trade or mail in or out of the country, except for official messages from the Ministry itself. Movement to and from Hogwarts is restricted without authorization, with mail being screened. The gateways to Europe have been shut down. They're even talking about legalizing the Unforgivables again."

"…the world's gone mad," Shinji whispered, shaking his head. "And revenge? They don't even know who was responsible for the attack."

"They think they do, and that's enough for them," Pansy murmured. "Sad, isn't it?"

"…yeah. It really is," the boy replied. "I just hope…I just hope there's no trouble at Durmstrang because of this. Anti-foreigner sentiment, a grudge bordering on hatred, and a tournament for international cooperation? It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen."

"Glad I'm not the only one who thinks so," Pansy said, glancing at Shinji out of the corner of her eye. "Feeling any better?"

"A little. The darkness helps. Still exhausted, though," Shinji answered with a shrug. "Frankly, I wouldn't mind a nap before getting to Durmstrang, since I'm sure there's some grand ceremony planned, which I'm sure I'll have to take part in."

"...well, you're not wrong," Pansy allowed, causing the boy to just let out a weary groan. "But yeah, given your day, get some rest. We'll have time to talk later, at Durmstrang."

"Thanks, Parkinson," the boy said quietly. "I really do appreciate this."

With that, he sighed, closing his eyes a final time and letting the welcome embrace of unconsciousness take him. In his sleep, though, Shinji couldn't exactly compel his body to remain upright, and so he slumped over, like a puppet with his strings cut.

Seeing this, and knowing he'd feel terrible when he woke up due to poor posture, Pansy reached over and brought Matou's head down to her lap, given that her thighs were probably more comfortable than empty air, and it was better for the head to be supported in sleep, after which she removed the _Muffliato,_ since it was no longer necessary.

It was in this position that Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass found them when they entered the darkened VIP cabin some time later, with Daphne raising an eyebrow as she took in the scene before here.

"We just left Hogwarts, and you're already making a play on Matou."

"I was interviewing him," Pansy replied stiffly. "He was tired. So I let him sleep."

"With his head on your lap," Daphne observed.

"…as if you haven't done that with Harry? Or more?" Pansy asked slyly, as Daphne blushed scarlet at Pansy's words.

"That's…that's different, Parkinson," Daphne replied. "Anyway, I don't really care what you do, but…isn't there some kind of ethical issue here? I mean, you're supposedly a journalist, and he…"

"He fell asleep, and I thought he'd be more comfortable with his head supported by something," Pansy stated blandly. "That's all."

"So that's your story, huh?"

"That's right, and I'm sticking to it," Pansy replied.

Harry, wisely, said nothing as he sat down on the bench across from Shinji and Pansy, with Daphne sitting beside him.

"Anyway, that business aside, Parkinson, you excited about covering the Tournament?" Daphne inquired, a slight smile on her face. "Bit of a coup to have that as one of the first major assignments in your career."

"Yeah, it is," Parkinson said with a slight smile. "And you? I know Harry won't be competing, what with being the Second for the Potions tournament as well as Youth Representative, but…"

"I just hope it won't end up being a dog and pony show, with everything going on."

"Can I quote you on that?"

Daphne sighed.

"Please don't."

"How about you, Harry?" Pansy asked charmingly. "Anything to say about things, whether your animagus form, what you expect from the Tournament, who has the best chance of being Champion, or anything else?"

"Just that I'm sure Durmstrang has quite a spectacle planned for us. After all, we'd do no less for them."


	24. A Song of Ice and Magic

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 24.** _A Song of Ice and Magic_

In an ancient castle on a nameless island of the Svalbard archipelago, long hidden away from the sight of those who lacked the gift of magic by powerful protections, the Commanders of the Host of Durmstrang met in the tallest room in one of the towers, to discuss the Tri-Wizard Tournament and the impending arrival of the students of Beauxbatons and Hogwarts in a few hours' time.

Durmstrang, being more of a military academy than Hogwarts, functioned quite differently than its British counterpart, with students choosing to join one of the Banners at the beginning of their time at the Institute. These Banners – those of the Wolf, Serpent, and Raven – functioned much like the mercenary companies of old, with each banner electing a leader from within its membership, who in turn would appoint a banner lieutenant and captains for each year to guide the rank and file.

Each of these Commanders set policy, enforced rules, and arranged activities for their respective Banners, with responsibilities that were somewhere between those of Hogwarts' Head Boy and Head of House, and for Durmstrang as a whole in their capacities as the Commanders of the Host.

At present, their subordinates, the Lieutenant and year-captains of each Banner, were out around the castle, overseeing the completion of the final arrangements for the festivities that evening, tidying the grounds, lighting the beacon fires, preparing the traditional Feast of Welcome, inspecting the student body's full dress uniforms – and making any last-minute alterations needed, since for most, it had been some time since they had cause to wear something so formal.

But the Commanders had other concerns beyond the immediate logistics...

"Soon our long awaited guests will arrive," the shortest of the three noted. A dark haired, dark-eyed boy who was slender enough, and stood so still as to almost disappear into the shadows if one was not looking directly at him, he was dressed in formal black robes trimmed with green, adorned with a silver chain of office. Notably, there was a medallion fixed to that chain, one which bore an engraving of Jörmungandr, identifying him as the Commander of the Banner of Serpents, a Banner that prized individual skill, speed and stealth, with a mindset best suited for training solo operatives. "Just in time to enjoy the coming of the long night."

He stood by one of the rough-hewn windows of the torch-lit chamber, smiling slightly as his ice-grey eyes looked out upon the ribbons of green and red that danced in the darkened sky which others might know as the Northern Lights, or the Aurora Borealis.

Uncommon in other areas of the world, it was one of the sights which graced the night sky in Svalbard, being as it was, an unincorporated part of Norway that lay above the Arctic Circle. From October onwards, the sun would not rise above the horizon, with the hazy blue of the twilight hour being the high point of the day. And from November to March, there would not be even that, as the students waited out the months of darkness.

"Indeed, Radu."

The second to speak was a stunning young woman whose delicate features were framed with locks of long white hair, almost seeming teal in the mingled torch and aurora-light, and whose figure never failed to draw men's eyes. The expression on her alabaster face, however, was marred by a touch of worry, an unease reflected in her purple eyes. Like her peer, she wore formal black robes and a chain of office, though her robes were trimmed with a rich crimson, and the engraving on the medallion at her breast – a depiction of a wolf howling at the moon – identified her as the Commander of the Banner of Wolves.

Unlike the Banner of the Serpent, her Banner emphasized unity, teamwork, and loyalty, believing that true strength – and the ability to complete missions – resulted from the synergies between individuals, more than the skills of any one person.

"I wonder what they'll think of it," she wondered aloud, glancing towards the place on the council chamber's walls where a new section of the Long Banner was slowly being revealed and inked by ancient enchantments, faint outlines in silver and gold already becoming visible on the crimson fabric.

An artifact created by Durmstrang's Founder, Nerida Vulchanova, the magic woven into the seemingly endless banner recorded both notable events at Durmstrang and those involved in them, serving both as a living history of what had come before and a reminder to those chosen to lead the Banners that what they did as leaders mattered, that no matter how small or insignificant they might believe their choices to be, each and every decision had effects that would echo on into eternity.

"After all," the woman continued, "like you, Radu, they come from lands where the passing of day and night are taken for granted, where there is no midnight sun – and no long night."

"No doubt some will think it an effect of dark magic, Sylvana," the third and final member of the gathering interjected, his voice a smooth baritone as he rose from a stool, clutching a piece of parchment in his hands. "That we of Durmstrang have found a way to banish the light of the sun and create a world of endless shadow."

He was the tallest of the gathered triumvirs, standing nearly two meters, yet he was the least intimidating of the group. For where Sylvana Terum, Commander of the Banner of Wolves, was strikingly beautiful and possessed of a charisma few could resist, and Radu Eshkol Mann, Commander of the Banner of Serpents, moved with the deadly grace of a predator, with a piercing gaze that seemed to find all he witnessed wanting, seeing through facades and false bravado to the darkness hidden in every human heart, Andreas Tørnquist was but a soft-spoken young man from Denmark, a sandy-haired youth who could often be found with an easy smile and a twinkle in his sea-green eyes.

But even his features were schooled into a mask of quiet dignity as he stood in council with his peers, his robes trimmed in gold, and his chain of office bearing a medallion inscribed with a depiction of Huginn and Muninn, the ravens of thought and memory, flying about a lidless eye. This last identified him as Commander of the Banner of Ravens, a group that prioritized knowledge and ingenuity, believing that more than skill or teamwork, it was good intelligence – and counter-intelligence – that was the key to victory in any challenge.

"Poetic as usual, Andreas," the Serpent Lord noted, without looking away from the world outside. "I suppose it is fitting for a Raven Lord." The Romanian Jew shook his head, his lips curving into a small smile. "More so than for a first-year Serpent."

"It's true. You were more than a bit insufferable when we were both Serpents, Tørnquist," the Wolf Commander commented, glancing over at the tall blond. "You still are, really, with your scheming and plotting, but at least I only hear about them. " Sylvana paused for a moment, then frowned. "Well, most of the time," she amended.

"I'm still insufferable most of the time, or you only hear about my plots most of the time?" Andreas inquired, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "If the first, well, that's not what you said when we were partners, long ago. As for the second…" He shrugged. "You know I'm only looking after the interests of those I'm responsible for."

Sylvana Terum's answering glare was positively frosty.

"We stopped being partners when you left me behind and joined the Banner of Ravens, Tørnquist," she said quietly. The young woman looked away, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "But you're right. That was a long time ago."

Durmstrang recognized, of course, that the Banner one first chose to join might not be what one was best suited for in the long run, and so, as a tradition that had continued from the time of the Founder, students were allowed to switch their allegiance once per year, with no questions asked. As a result, however, there was a constant background level of inter-Banner intrigue, with occasional scandals erupting where an agent from one Banner suborned a Quidditch captain or other valued individual in return for certain considerations, material or otherwise.

"Well, I, for one, wouldn't have imagined that the two I looked up to as year-captains my first year at Durmstrang would both end up defecting to other Banners," the Romanian interjected, turning away from the window to his peers. "Or that we would meet again as Commanders of the Host, planning the logistics of the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Of course, with the Banners prioritizing their own interests over those of the whole, some method to arbitrate large-scale disputes between them, coordinate multi-Banner task forces and activities, and to provide a semblance of unity in the face of outsiders had been needed, and so the Council of the Host had been established, with each Banner Commander automatically granted a seat on that body - and the style of Lord.

"Indeed. I was…surprised when the revival of the Tournament was announced," Andreas admitted, which, coming from him, was something of a significant concession. "Much less that the British would agree to give Durmstrang the honor of hosting it."

"True…" Sylvana agreed reluctantly, crossing her arms as she moved to the window, looking out at the imposing structure of the inactive gateway in the distance. "Then again, if they'd won the right to host it, the Tournament might have been cancelled altogether, what with the current…unpleasantness in Britain."

"Mm," the Raven Lord acknowledged gruffly. "Unpleasantness is one way to put it. I'd be the first to acknowledge that what happened to them in the wake of the Quidditch World Cup was a terrible tragedy, but the anti-foreigner sentiment? The shutting of their borders to trade? The outright accusations that the ICW of orchestrating some kind of conspiracy against them? That seems…excessive."

"And worrying," the Serpent Commander chimed in, his eyes grim and cold. "Especially given how many of their students will be coming to Durmstrang for the Tournament, as well as, I am given to understand, a small detachment of security personnel. Certainly, I understand that the Headmaster is on good terms with their new Minister, but allowing so many of them to come to our school seems…unwise."

"But at least their students, like the students of Beauxbatons, have agreed to be split amongst our Banners, so there will be no single concentration of foreign, potential hostile, elements to contend with," Sylvana pointed out, though the Wolf Commander still seemed troubled by the situation. "I have little to say about their security forces, but I think we can at least prevent their students from becoming a fifth column within our walls if the worst was to happen."

"A hostile takeover scenario?" Andreas inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Granted, if they were able to do coordinate such an endeavor, then holding the students of a school hostage – either ourselves or Beauxbatons – would be powerful leverage against our Ministries – and the ICW as a whole."

"It won't come to that," Radu replied, steel and conviction in his voice. "But if they are foolish enough to try, they will learn the sting of a Serpent's Fangs. It is not for nothing that Grindelwald was once one of our number, after all."

"Not that that's something to be proud of, Radu, considering the suffering he caused," Sylvana intoned, frowning in disapproval. "He is the great shame of our noble institution, after all."

"Still, he was strong. Strong enough to make the whole of Europe tremble," the Romanian said smoothly, clenching his fist as something dark flickered in his eyes. "While I disagree with his aims, and find his methods questionable at best, his power was certainly…worthy of respect."

"In principle I don't disagree," the Wolf leader allowed reluctantly. "In practice though, Radu, please don't say that in front of other people. Given how many members of the Banner of the Wolf are descended from those who suffered at his hands, it would be…impolitic."

The Serpent Commander just shrugged.

"I was never one to speak my opinions loudly anyway, Sylvana," the dark-haired youth said amicably. "It tends to make one too…noticeable."

"Spoken like a true Serpent," Andreas commented, raising an eyebrow. "In any case, while I agree it is unlikely there will be any threat to the security of Durmstrang as a whole, we should be prepared in case the eventuality arises." The others nodded, as it made sense to have a contingency plan in place before anything happened. "However, I have other concerns: specifically, sabotage, espionage, or…other incidents that may be blamed on so-called rogue elements."

"By other incidents, you mean assassinations," Radu supplied, just to be sure everyone was on the same page.

"Bit bloody minded, aren't you, Radu?" Sylvana inquired, raising an eyebrow at the suggestion. "Not that I've come to expect anything less of the man who leads the Banner of Serpents."

"Now, Sylvana, I wouldn't go quite that far," Andreas interjected, before any off-topic byplay could begin again. "Still, has it not occurred to you that there may be individuals at our school who the British would consider high value targets?"

Sylvana of the Banner of Wolves gave a sour grunt of acknowledgement.

"You mean Lieutenant Krum, don't you?" she inquired, shaking her head. "

"I do indeed," the Raven Lord confirmed. "Given your Lieutenant's notoriety in Britain, following the events of the Quidditch World Cup, it may be prudent to take…precautions against untoward behavior."

"You think they'd target him, just because he's a Bulgarian?" the white-haired girl asked quietly. "That's…rather barbaric, wouldn't you say?"

"People react strangely in the wake of tragedy," the Dane replied, shaking his head. "They look for someone to blame, and fall upon anyone who seems to – a pattern that has repeated itself over and over in history. As such, your Lieutenant may be at risk due to his role as Seeker for the Bulgarian National Team."

Sylvana Terum sighed, rubbing her temples with the fingers of one hand.

"Much as I hate to admit it, you have a point, Tørnquist," the Wolf Commander conceded. "I suppose I can assemble a guard detail for the Lieutenant. Perhaps led by one of my senior year-captains."

"That could be workable…unless Krum is selected as Durmstrang's Champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Andreas countered. "Officially, each Champion is supposed to stand alone, without assistance from their peers."

"Officially," the Serpent Lord echoed ironically. "We both know that cheating is expected, and in fact has been something of a tradition at past Tournaments. Even collusion between the other schools, for why else would Hogwarts and Beauxbatons have taken the victory in every other Tournament?"

"Expected, perhaps, but there are other considerations. For instance, assembling a guard detail for a Champion could imply that we don't trust our visitors," the Raven Commander mused aloud.

"So? It would only be the truth," Radu remarked, though Sylvana shook her head at her colleague's words.

"No, Tørnquist has the right of it," the white-haired girl said reluctantly. "The Tournament _is_ allegedly being held to improve relations between our schools and nations, so doing anything that could be blatantly construed as distrust is…contraindicated."

"…I suppose," Radu conceded, his lips curving into a frown. "Though in that case, there's little enough we can do, save for an increased frequency of patrols. There is little we can do to protect him during the Tournament itself, and even without some nefarious plot, the death of a competitor or two is not entirely unprecedented."

"It is troubling," Sylvana admitted, shaking her head. "Still, it is not yet certain that Krum will be our Champion for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, so perhaps these concerns are a bit premature."

"Perhaps," Andreas agreed, his expression solemn. "However, based on level of ability, desire to compete, and other such factors, he is the most likely person to be chosen to represent Durmstrang, if the Goblet of Fire is indeed an impartial judge. Aside from the people in this room, and a certain ineligible individual, that is." He tilted his head as he looked quizzically at the Wolf Commander. "Or did you decide you wished to compete after all, Terum?"

"Heh." The Wolf Commander shook her head. "Tempting though it may be, Tørnquist, I must decline. Duty before self, death before dishonor. My colleagues chose me to be their Commander, to lead them and guide them, come what may. I will not betray their trust by indulging myself in a quest for transient personal glory."

"…no, I suppose you wouldn't, Sylvana," Andreas said quietly, smiling despite himself at his colleague's declaration. "You've never been the type to betray an oath." He turned to the slim form of his Serpent colleague. "And what of you, Radu? Eternal glory doesn't tempt you at all?"

"If that was a jest, Andreas, it was a poor one," the leader of the Banner of Serpents remarked after a moment of silence. "I prefer acting where the eyes of others cannot see, and otherwise working in the shadows, not…being a Champion."

"And yet you accepted the position of Commander?"

Radu shrugged.

"Someone had to."

"From the sound of it, it seems you have no interest in this Tournament yourself, Tørnquist?" Sylvana broke in, her gaze shifting between her two colleagues. "I know that you accepted the rank of Commander only after you failed to be chosen as Durmstrang's Potions Champion, so would this opportunity not tempt you?"

The tall Dane just chuckled and shook his head.

"…I think not, Sylvana," the Raven Lord spoke quietly. "You and I both know that my talents are best employed off the battlefield, even if I can hold my own. It would have been a great honor to represent Durmstrang before the entire world, to show that we are masters of far more than just the Dark Arts, but Rachelle will be a fine Potions Champion in my place."

"Right, and as Potions Champion, she is ineligible to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Sylvana agreed quickly, as the Swedish girl did not really want to discuss how the Raven Commander – then but the Raven Lieutenant – had somehow suborned Rachelle Sondrol – the Lieutenant of the Banner of Wolves – and convinced her to become _his_. "Before we were…distracted by a discussion of our intentions towards the Tri-Wizard Tournament, however, I do believe we were discussing logistics and security?"

The Raven Lord seemed as if he wanted to say something else, but just nodded instead.

"Even if it was politically viable to have guard details for the Tri-Wizard Champions," he added after a moment of silence, his gaze distant as he looked down at a parchment, "such a thing would be difficult to put into effect, given that by tradition, they enjoy many of the same access and movement privileges as we do as Commanders, as well as being exempted from both classes and banner duties."

"Granted," Radu Mann noted, yielding to his colleague's points. "For now there's nothing we can do regarding that issue. As I mentioned the last time we held council, I would have preferred a multi-Banner security detachment being present in the chamber housing the Goblet of Fire, some invisible, some out in the open, to prevent any potential sabotage or intimidation of prospective Champions, but…" The Serpent Commander shook his head, clearly frustrated by the situation.

"I remember. You were overruled by Headmaster Karkaroff himself," Sylvana reminded him. "I don't like it any more than you do, but I'm sure the Headmaster has his reasons."

"Political ones, given the presence of students from other schools," Andreas supplied. "After all, those of Beauxbatons and Hogwarts would likely not be used to our traditions, and might construe the presence of such a detachment as an intimidation attempt. The Headmaster wishes to avoid provoking any…misunderstandings, if possible, especially with Britain's rather aggressive rhetoric of late."

"You asked?" Radu inquired, a hint of surprise flittering over his features before he relaxed. "Well, if that is how it must be, so be it. Far be it for me to question the requirements of…diplomacy. For the record, however, if their sensibilities would be offended by such a force, then I am not at all certain they deserve to compete in the Tournament in the first place," the Serpent Commander stated with a derisive twist of the mouth. "Yes, our nations and schools may speak of the Tri-Wizard Tournament as a historic opportunity to win eternal glory and national honor, but in their zeal, they do not impart the most important lesson of all: that only those who are prepared to face death should take up the mantle of Champion."

Sylvana sighed, and shook her head.

"We've been over this, Radu," she said gently. "There may well be people who submit their name for consideration who are not truly prepared, but that is what the Goblet of Fire is for. In the end, it is _that_ which will choose, and it chooses only the most worthy."

"Does it?" Radu questioned, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "Or does it only choose the most skilled and powerful? I admit it is a powerful artifact, but I do not trust it to judge fairly, not when lives are on the line." He shook his head sadly. "After all, we both – no, all three of us – know of individuals who are skilled at any number of techniques, yet who would not be able to use any of these in a fight where their lives were on the line. In these harsh northern lands, we learn to respect the power – and the danger – of nature. We learn to respect the creatures that dwell here, the elements, and the powers we wield. We learn that to live is to face death. Those from the other schools…"

He fell silent, his fists clenched and at his sides as he stared out upon the frozen vista outside the window, unable to say more.

"I understand, Radu," Sylvana said quietly, moving to stand beside him. "All of us do, I think. But this is something that is out of our hands, no matter how much power we might otherwise have. If they choose to compete…"

"If they choose to compete in full knowledge of the risks, then certainly, I will respect their choice, as I do that of any true warrior," the Serpent Lord whispered, gritting his teeth. "But if they are talked into it without knowing – they might as well be throwing away their lives. And that, _that_ I cannot forgive."

The room was silent for a time, until the Raven Commander offered a proposal.

"We could make it so that those who submit their names, but are not chosen as Champions, will be assigned extra duties for the next week or so," Andreas suggested, looking down at the slip of parchment he held – the duty roster for the next week. "It occurs to me that with so many additional people, our normal duty rotation might prove…insufficient to cover the demand."

For unlike the other European schools, there were no house-elves or other servitor creatures that handled basic chores at Durmstrang. Instead, it was the students who were responsible for mess duty, laundry, cleaning, maintenance, and groundkeeping. Each week, the members of each Banner had two days of mess duty (cooking for the entire school) – with the seventh day assigned to the Banner who had earned the fewest merits that week – along with a day for laundry and general cleaning, and one for maintenance and tending the grounds.

"Heh." Despite herself, Sylvana couldn't help but smirk. "That's…pretty underhanded, Tørnquist. Taking advantage of impressionable young people who wish to be a Champion, are we?"

"If they're not willing to face the prospect of something mildly unpleasant, like menial labor, should they fail to achieve their aims, they are certainly not ready to face death," the Raven Commander noted mildly. "Besides, we need to start integrating the Beauxbatons and Hogwarts students into our duty rotations as soon as possible, and it would best if they could do so with some of their peers already trained in what we expect, wouldn't it?"

"Hm. Yes…so long as they know that the Champion is exempt from such duties, your idea has merit, Andreas," Radu said slowly. "Some will undoubtedly be unwilling to brave the risk of failure. Some will not, and will learn firsthand why risks need to be considered. And one will be Champion."

"Hopefully it makes a difference," Andreas murmured. "It probably won't stop peer pressure, but what does, really?"

"Hm, back to the idea of protection and privacy for the Champions," Sylvana interjected.

"Yes?"

"Quidditch has been suspended this year, correct?" she asked.

"Indeed," Radu confirmed with a thin smirk. "Which is fortunate, given that it means Andreas cannot use the team members he enticed away from my Banner with a bribe of chocolate and cloudberry jam. They would have been our counter to Lieutenant Krum."

"Need I remind you that you started the most recent round of this, when you offered our dueling captain a spot as your Lieutenant?" the Raven Commander pointed out mildly. "As I have previously mentioned, I was simply looking out for the interests I am responsible for."

"Be that as it may, it does mean that the sauna and hot springs facilities of Raven's Keep, Wolf Tower and Serpent's Refuge set aside for the Quidditch teams will be going unused," Sylvana pointed out, wanting to cut off what could all too easily turn into an argument over who poached who first. "So why not set them aside for the exclusive use of the Champions? That way, in addition to the private rooms they will be assigned, they will have a safe place to relax and bathe in private."

"Not a bad idea, Sylvana," Andreas mused, nodding as he turned the idea over in his mind. "Potions Champions as well as Tri-Wizard?"

"I hadn't considered them, but yes, why not?"

"Hm. It could work, I suppose," Radu conceded. "They are rather large springs for one person's use, after all. Though I suppose you already have a Champion under your Banner, Andreas, and you may well have at least one soon, Sylvana, so larger is better in this case."

"Speaking of that, I hope you have a replacement in mind for Lieutenant Krum?" the Raven Commander inquired solicitously. "If he is chosen as Durmstrang's Champion, that is."

"You let me worry about that, Tørnquist," the Lady of the Wolves rejoined with a hint of ice. "My Banner's internal affairs are not your business."

"So noted, Sylvana," Andreas said wryly. Thinking over what had been said, the youth frowned. "We are going to have to find a replacement for Quidditch, you know? With the long night coming, we will need some kind of activity to help keep up morale. You know as well as I that simply watching the Tri-Wizard Tournament won't be nearly enough, no matter how much of a spectacle it is."

"True. And with the Hogwarts and Beauxbatons students adapting to our traditions and customs, there is certain to be some degree of tension," the Wolf Commander mused. "It would need to be something accessible, though naturally, Champions should be excluded from participation."

"Agreed," the Raven Commander noted. "For a Champion to be hurt or worse outside the events of the Tournament itself could lead to unpleasant consequences."

"For once we agree, Tørnquist," Sylvana quipped, a smile flitting over her features for an instant so brief, no one could be sure it had been there at all. "Still, that can wait. As for more pressing matters, such as preparations for tonight, the drill teams have been assembled and are rehearsing as we speak. The Chamber of Selection has also been prepared with uniforms enough for each of the new arrivals."

In contrast to the uniforms of the Banner Commanders, which were black with colored trim denoting their respective banner, the uniform of the rank and file was either green, red, or gold, depending on the banner of the wearer, trimmed in black.

"For my part, the landing zones have been secured, the grounds cleared of any debris, and the fires are ready to be lit," the Serpent Commander reported. "Andreas?"

"You will be pleased to hear that preparations for the Feast of Welcome are almost complete," the Raven Lord informed his peers. "The Great Hall has been decorated as per tradition, and the detachment on mess duty, led by the Potions Champion herself, should be completing a traditional Norwegian feast." His smile was a bit crooked, but genuine, nevertheless. "For what it's worth, Rachelle is as good in the kitchen as she is in the laboratory, or the battlefield."

"Not as good as you though," Radu commented.

"Even so," Andreas voiced, inclining his head slightly. "It is she who is champion, not I. And I have every confidence in my subordinate."

"Heh. Well, if you say so, Raven Lord," the Serpent Commander noted. "On a personal note, I am always pleasantly surprised by the quality of what you and your Banner manage to create during their turn at mess duty. Would you be willing to share the cookbook I'm sure your Banner has assembled?"

"Perhaps," the Dane said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "I would have to ask my subordinates. If they are agreeable, then perhaps we can come to an arrangement."

"…with that in mind, might I inquire what your Lieutenant Sondrol has come up with for tonight's menu, Tørnquist?" Sylvana inquired.

"If you insist on spoiling the surprise," the Raven Lord allowed. "For starters, our guests may choose between dill-cured arctic char with _lefse_ – a traditional Norwegian flatbread – or herring in mustard sour cream on fresh-baked loaves of rye. Our entrees will include salmon, _pinnekjøtt_ – cured, smoked ribs served with puréed swede and potatoes, and of course, _ribbe,_ tender roast pork belly with the ultracrispy skin left on. And of course, for sides we have potatoes, roasted and topped with fenalår, or cured lamb, an aged goat cheese, and a cabbage and apple salad to add a touch of lightness to the meal, with ginger beer and oak-aged akevitt as accompaniment to help cut through the richness."

"A very…rich menu indeed, Andreas," the Serpent Commander noted. "You and your Banner have been busy."

"There's something to be said about first impressions, and about winning hearts and minds. The carrot _and_ the stick, Radu."

"Something I do try to keep in mind, yes," Radu Mann quipped. "Though I didn't hear you mention dessert?"

"Knowing Tørnquist, it will involve cloudberries," the white-haired girl said wryly. "He is sometimes predicable, after all."

"Only sometimes, Sylvana, and only when you know the context," Andreas allowed agreeably enough. "Dessert is a sweet, creamy barley porridge topped with sour cloudberries and served with a rich blend of coffee."

"…adequate," the leader of the Banner of Serpents conceded, glancing over at each of his peers. "Unless either of you have anything further to discuss, I do believe we've covered everything we need to for now. The rest can wait until after the selection of the Tri-Wizard Champion."

"Indeed," Sylvana Terum agreed. "I, for one, am looking forward to meeting our international colleagues. After all, they've told us so little about themselves."

"Officially, at any rate," Andreas qualified. "I think we have a bit of an idea via other channels."

"A bit, yes, but a bit is not enough," Radu pointed out. "As you know perfectly well, Raven Lord."

"That I do," the Commander of the Banner of Ravens answered with an easy smile. "Shall we adjourn then? There is but a small span of time remaining before our comrades arrive, and a few things yet to do for a successful Feast – and Choosing."

One by one, they nodded to each other and filed from the room, as behind them, the torches went dark, leaving the council chamber lit only by the light of the aurora borealis, which in the myths of some cultures was a symbol of good fortune, and in others, impending calamity.


	25. Mirror, Mirror

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 25.** _Mirror, Mirror_

In the twilight, four powder-blue carriages the size of large houses hurtled through a fog of arctic frost, with the carriages and the white elephant-sized forms of the fifty-two Abraxan horses that drew them all but invisible against the white washed-out surroundings. The journey from the Pyrénées to the Arctic Circle had been a long one, yet the wings of the Abraxans still beat a fierce rhythm as they sped forward, pulling the carriages onward into the featureless expanse of white.

' _A set of coordinates provided to us by Ministry of Norway,_ ' thought a slim figure peering out of the window of her compartment with cold silver eyes, trying to catch some sign of what was around them. _'I wonder if there's actually anything out here, or if zis is all a vaste of time.'_ She sniffed indignantly at the thought. _'More of a vaste of time, zat is, as I 'ave little interest in going to Durmstrang at all. If Madame Maxine had not insisted on a show of unity, I would not 'ave agreed to go at all!_ '

But the Headmistress had, and so Rachelle Perrot Lestrange, the ever-tempestuous Potions Champion of Beauxbatons, had agreed to be accompany the rest of her school's delegation to the opening ceremonies of a Tournament she wasn't eligible to compete in – on the conditions that she would not have to share her compartment with anyone else, and that the honor guard traditionally assigned to representatives of the school could be dispensed with, stipulations to which the half-giantess had agreed.

' _I would say it was out of respect, but I know better,'_ the girl thought, shaking her head as she patted the weapon she wore at her hip – a silver-grey rapier. An heirloom of her fallen family, the delicate blade was as sharp and brilliant as it had been the day it had been forged. A dangerous and beautiful implement of war – and still rather effective today, even discounting the slot in the hilt in which her pear and thestral hair wand could be inserted, allowing her to cast spells through it, or the mechanism built into the hilt that allowed easier use of potions in combat.

But that was no surprise, as _Deuillegivre_ had once been the blade of an alchemist – the chosen sidearm of the First Director of the Centre of Alchemical Studies, in fact. The blade of her ancestor, who had once worked with the great Nicholas Flamel, it was the last thing she had of her family after they died in a potions accident when she was very young, and now that she was Potions Champion, she could carry it openly.

Her peers at Beauxbatons thought of it as barbaric, a remnant of a less civilized age, when wizards worked alongside – sometimes even served – those without magic, a time when might alone made right, and the darker arts were a necessity.

She, in turn, found their position absurd, given that many of them wished to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, a barbaric contest of death that belonged in the distant past and had no place in the modern world.

After all, a true Alchemist might walk with death, but one would not actively seek it.

Rachelle's smile was brittle as she looked upon the blank expanse outside the window of her private compartment, noting the silence in which the world was wrapped.

' _Something is hidden nearby. Zis fog…is not entirely natural…'_

At first glance, those who saw her wouldn't think of the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons as an especially dangerous individual, given her appearance as a waif-like girl whose skin was soft and milky-white, whose silver-coloured eyes seemed curious and wondering of the world, and whose finely textured hair shone as if sprinkled with gold dust. Her garments, elegant navy dress of satin chased with silver filigree, and a navy cape lined in silver fur, which seemed more at home in a royal court than a battlefield, reinforced this, with most who were unfamiliar with her past likely considering the rapier she bore a ceremonial weapon at best.

But then, they would be wrong, for Miss Lestrange was perhaps the best exemplar of the axioms that the most beautiful flowers were often the most deadly.

Indeed, to the thousands of students who called the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic home, an encounter with Miss Lestrange was not a cause for celebration but terror, given the events of the previous year, events that had ended in the deaths of dozens of her peers, including the four oldest and most powerful members of the Council of Wands – the elected student government of Beauxbatons – as well as Anton Duvais, the French Minister's only child, who had been the presumptive appointee for the position of next Etoile.

The last alone would have been cause enough for scandal, and not just because Anton had been the Minister's son, but because the Etoile, beyond being the head of the Council, was supposed to serve as a representative of the Academy and a living example of the virtues it espoused, with any actions taken against him or her seen as an attack on Beauxbatons as a whole.

No one knew the full story of what had happened between them, as the relevant files had been sealed after the conclusion of the official investigation, but what was known was that all those who had stood in her way had met with grim and grisly fates, and that when questioned about her involvement in their deaths, she showed no remorse whatsoever, revealing that beneath the innocence implied by her sweet voice and gentle appearance, there lurked a sense of ruthless practicality, unfettered by anything as pedestrian as human morality.

It was a rather tragic tale, really, though perhaps inevitable once the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship had been opened to all the official institutions of learning registered with the International Confederation of Wizards.

After all, given the lingering influence of Flamel and his rather sizeable endowment (which had funded the construction of the Castle and most of the existing grounds), the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic had become _the_ premier institution in Western Europe for instruction in Potions and Alchemy, with students flocking there from Spain, Portugal, Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg and more for a chance to study with masters of the field. One might have expected the fact that French was the primary language of instruction to be a deterrent, especially as translation spells unfortunately did not exist, but those who went there considered it a small price to pay for the knowledge they gained – and the job prospects it opened up.

French was the language spoken by most wizarding alchemists in Europe, after all, given that the Founder and First Director of the Centre for Alchemical Studies in Egypt had been a Frenchman himself, and a Beauxbatons alumnus, no less. Every Director since then had likewise been a graduate of fair Beauxbatons, save for one, an alumna of Koldovstoretz, and even she had needed to learn French.

Even with that though, jobs at the Centre were few and far in between, and so most young potioneers with any talent whatsoever sought something to distinguish themselves from their peers to increase their chances of being noticed, whether it was a spot on the Council to demonstrate leadership abilities, a Quidditch captaincy to demonstrate the superior spatial awareness and strategy, or something else entirely.

The announcement of the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship, effectively becoming the World Potions Competition however, and the opportunity that would be granted to whoever became Beauxbatons' champion, had fanned the flames of already fierce rivalries, with simmering conflicts erupting into a wave of sabotage, harassment, and abuses of authority that had nearly torn the school apart.

Both the faculty and the Council of Wands had tried to suppress this unrest before things became worse, but in the end, they had been unable to restore order. But then, when two of the four leaders of the task force assigned to suppress the incidents were themselves secretly involved in them, one would not expect such a thing to be overly effective.

Those leaders had wanted the position of Champion for themselves, given the prestige the title bore, the privileges of the rank of Champion, and the chance to compete on the world stage, perks that, for once, eclipsed even those of the Etoile.

And so, they had systematically attempted to eliminate their competition, offering bribes, using threats of bodily or academic harm, seducing the acquaintances or friends of competitors into becoming their agents, and worse. Potions – and cauldrons – were sabotaged in ways that were nigh-undetectable, to devastating effect. Ingredients and personal recipes were stolen or destroyed. Prospective competitors fell ill with mysterious ailments.

A few unfortunates even suffered accidents in which their labs were destroyed, with no memory of what exactly had happened.

None of these had been enough to dissuade Rachelle Lestrange, however, as her desire to become Champion was not rooted in something as shallow as wishing to stand out to prospective employers, as much of a coup as the position would have been. Rachelle had sworn upon her parents' memory that she would become the greatest alchemist that had ever lived, surpassing her honored ancestor, creating a legacy that would eclipse the memory of late Nicholas Flamel himself.

In the face of persecution and hardship, the girl had persevered, focusing on her Craft and refusing to give up – or even pretend to do so – refusing to give up, despite several "accidents" that landed her in the infirmary, a few poisoning attempts, a destroyed lab, and more than one attempt at more…direct intervention to cripple her as a competitor.

As a descendant of the First Director, whose parents had worked for the Centre before they died, the Lestrange girl was considered a threat that had to be eliminated at all costs, and as others began to drop out of the contest, the efforts of the corrupt task force began to focus on her – only to find there were few levers that could be employed to influence her.

She had no power base to dismantle, no friends to seduce and suborn. She did not value wealth, power, prestige, romance or any of the usual things someone her age usually did. She had no fear of the Council or the staff, as she knew she had done nothing wrong – certainly she had not played the intimidation games others had or done anything untoward to her competitors – and wasn't interested in some lesser position that others could arrange for her.

With the lesser interventions failing to grind down her determination, her opponents had resorted to more drastic measures, and when they had…

…well, it was not for nothing that some called her _la Belladonna_ , _la belle dame sans merci,_ or _l'Étoile Noire de L'Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons._

' _Perhaps it was fortunate that my keen sense of smell kept me uninterested in the usual social niceties …'_ she mused. Her well-developed olfactory abilities were a godsend when searching for potions ingredients, identifying the state of a potion, or other such, but in the crowded environs of Beauxbatons, where nearly everyone wore some kind of cologne or perfume in an attempt to seem more attractive and alluring, it was very much a liability.

Still, without spending time in the company of others beyond what was required due to meals and classes, she had been able to develop her skill at a prodigious rate, as well as creating some caches of ingredients, and securing a safe space or two, in case things ever came to a head.

And come to a head they had, with the first attack coming when she was working in the school potions lab afterhours, refining the highly advanced – and highly toxic – Baneberry Potion into a more deadly form. Silently, her assailants had struck, though they hadn't managed to drop her with their initial strike, with the cauldron being knocked to the ground by an errant spell-beam, the impact causing the hazardous contents to boil over and be released into the air as a fine spray.

Having consumed a bezoar, Rachelle was largely unaffected, save for minor first-degree burns, but her assailants, which she subdued in their moment of surprise, were not so fortunate, and by the time everything was over, they had been beyond anyone's help, their lungs eaten away from within.

The second group that had come after her had been a bit more cautious, as they had heard rumors of what had happened before, and so had chosen instead to break into what they believed to be one of her hidden labs, located in what was officially an unused classroom. They had entered warily, checking quickly for anything that might resemble a trap, but had found nothing but an assortment of equipment, ingredients, and paraphernalia appropriate for an advanced potioneer.

In that room, they'd found a number of vials of advanced potions, as well as a bubbling pot filled with a liquid like molten gold, with droplets leaping like goldfish above the surface of the cauldron. In front of that vessel, they'd frozen, as there was only one potion with those characteristics: _Felix Felicis_ , one of the most difficult to brew in all of the western world.

Under normal circumstances, their standard operating procedure would have been to vanish any potions there, taking or destroying the equipment, but the presence of _Felix_ complicated matters, and fractured the group's unity. After all, if one of them was to present a vial of liquid luck to the Alchemist of Beauxbatons at the end of the year, it would all but guarantee their appointment as Potions Champion.

The treasure before them divided them against one another, and the group fell to squabbling, turning on one another, as none would settle for a lesser prize when the temptation of everything they had ever sought lay before them.

One by one, they fell, with the last one standing triumphantly seizing the cauldron for himself, an act which resulted in a devastating blast that ended his life – and those of his fallen comrades, charring their bodies – and everything else organic into the room – into a thin layer of white ash. Sadly for them, the potion was highly unstable before completion, with sudden shocks or improper movements leading to rather…disastrous outcomes.

Outcomes such as tremendous explosions as liquid glory was transformed into all-consuming flame, and consumed other sources of magic and power to stay alive, growing more powerful with each source consumed. Had there been only one in the room, perhaps he or she would have lived through the accident, albeit rather disfigured. As it was, however…there were no survivors.

In the end, there had only been one more attempt on her – this one effort between two rival factions, as neither was willing to take any chances where Miss Lestrange was concerned, given the deaths she had already caused.

The group of twenty-odd students cornered her on the roof of the Academy, blocking the stairwells and leaving no avenue of escape as they quickly disarmed her and forced her to her knees, binding her arms and legs with magical ropes so she could not fight back.

"Mademoiselle Lestrange," the leader of the group had intoned as he stepped forward, a handsome youth with wavy dark hair, green eyes, and a smile that might seem charming under other circumstances. "You've caused us all quite a bit of trouble."

"And what trouble would that be, Duvais?" Rachelle had asked quietly, her expression wintry as she regarded the Etoile-apparent. "I've simply been brewing my potions. I don't have the time or inclination to be bothered by the death of insects."

Anton's response had been to slap her, leaving an angry red mark on her cheek.

"You…you…"

"Chienne? Salope? Fille de pute?" she offered dryly, her eyes seeming to look over all of them as she judged them unworthy of life. "Connasse dégénérée?"

"Mm, oui," the son of the Minister had agreed to the last. "Tu et ta famille, c'est une famille de dégénérés!"

"Va te faire enculer, Anton," Rachelle had said dispassionately.

Enraged, the young man had hit her with a wordless Body-Bind, paralyzing her, only to drop his wand in very next moment, as Anton Duvais, the Etoile-apparent of Beauxbatons collapsed like a puppet with severed strings, his body convulsing as flecks of white froth issued from his mouth and his skin grew pale.

Her attackers had stood by in shock, wondering what the hell had happened to Anton, but they didn't have long to wonder, as seconds later, they joined him as control of their bodies was stolen from them, and they too, collapsed. As they writhed and thrashed in their death throes, Rachelle had paid them no mind, simply waiting for the paralysis to wear off, at which point she vanished the ropes that bound her and getting to her feet, her gaze cool and indifferent as she surveyed the slowly cooling corpses on the ground around her.

"It's a pity, really," she had said to herself, her voice almost gentle. "But I suppose there is no true cure for stupidity. Except death, that is."

She took her time looking them over, studying the effects of the highly concentrated poison whose vial had fallen from her fingers and shattered during the confrontation, as she had no way of saving any of them – not that she would, even if she had been carrying additional bezoars or antidotes at the time.

And when she was brought before a committee of the Judiciary to explain her involvement in the death of over three dozen students, including the four most powerful Councilors and the Etoile-apparent, her words had been simple:

"The second was an accident of course. I could not have known they would break into my lab and improperly handle a volatile potion," she had testified in a calm, melodious voice, the gentle smile on her innocent-seeming face quite at odds to the thoroughly documented destruction she'd left in her wake. "As for the Minister's son and his compatriots, I did not kill them. I simply didn't save them."

After all, since they had been the ones who had attacked her, there was no reason she needed to warn them of a threat to their lives.

She provided her memories of the incident in question, revealing that she had taken a bezoar before both of the attacks on her person, and that she had in no way been involved with the explosion that had taken the lives of the raid on her lab.

" _Felix Felicis_ is a terribly difficult potion to make," she had remarked. "Incompetence in handling it, or severe agitation of a brew in progress could easily lead to destruction on such a scale."

" _Felix_ …?" Madame Maxine had inquired, taken aback by the comment. "You…were brewing zat potion…? But zat is…"

"Indeed," Rachelle had answered, withdrawing a vial of the golden substance from her powder-blue robes. "This comes from a second cauldron I was brewing, just in case any mishaps occurred."

Somewhat skeptical of the claim, the Alchemist of Beauxbatons came forward to inspect the item, though he almost dropped it in shock as he saw that it was indeed liquid luck.

"This…!"

"I can show you the lab, if you desire," Rachelle had suggested. "Unless you have more questions for me?"

There had been some, but in the end, she had been cleared of any wrongdoing in the whole sordid affair, with the Chief Justice of France ordering the incident sealed, given the embarrassment that could result if it were known that the son of the Minister had abused his position at Beauxbatons and had died attempting to assault a young girl.

That didn't stop the rumors though, especially when she was appointed Potions Champion of Beauxbatons, with every other potioneer among the student body who might have had enough skill to challenge her disqualified due to no longer being alive.

Back in the present, the girl's eyes widened as something massive loomed out of the fog: the crag of a massive iceberg, with the shimmering surface of a gateway set into it.

' _A hidden gateway?'_ she mused, taking in the view as the carriages rushed towards the crag and the portal within it. _'I didn't know Norway 'ad one.'_

It made sense though, given that a gateway built into an iceberg could be moved about, and more easily hidden than something in the open.

They drew closer, closer, closer still – and then they were through, with the white expanse of nothingness that had surrounded them replaced by a beautiful night sky, where streaks of colour and light painted the heavens themselves with vibrance.

' _Incroyable…'_

* * *

Back at the Durmstrang Institute, the Council's preparations had been completed, with the Commanders of the Host proceeding outside to join the members of their Banners outside.

There, the rank and file of Wolf, Serpent, and Raven had been arranged to line the paths leading to Durmstrang, with an honor guard deployed both at the demarcated landing zone for Beauxbatons, and at the arrival platform that had been erected for the _Hogwarts Express_ in six-man deep formations _._

Against the white snow, their uniforms of red, green, and gold were visible, with their metal-capped staves of ebony stark reminders of the violence they were capable of as they stood patiently, looking to their year-captains – who bore the standards of their Banners – for direction.

Igor Karkaroff, the thin, wiry Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute, wrapped in silver furs, felt a sense of pride swell within his breast as he stood atop the high walls of the castle, looking out over the assembled Banners and the assembled military might they represented. Even in the arctic cold, it warmed his heart to think about the sheer strength gathered here: thousands of students, each trained in the arts of war from the moment they arrived at Durmstrang.

With the concentration of forces below, he could conquer a nation, over-run the defenses of any fortress, defeat any single magical foe…that was, if the very discipline that allowed them to safely use the Dark Arts also meant they wouldn't be a party to any wars of aggression. That way led disaster…

' _Much as Grindelwald showed. Or the foolishness I was involved in over decade ago,'_ he thought. It was true enough that he had been a Death Eater – a servant of Lord Voldemort – years ago, when his hair had still been dark and full, but that had only been because wished to learn more of the Dark Arts from the supremely skilled wizard.

As one who had been Raven and Serpent both in his time at Durmstrang, Karkaroff had been a man of ambition, a man who hungered for the secrets of forgotten lore, desiring the strength that individuals like the Founder – or even Gellert Grindelwald – had possessed. Of course, he knew the temptations of power, and that might by itself did not make right, but in aid of a cause, might could only help, something which few enough seemed to understand.

Not even Albus Dumbledore.

Once, Igor, like most of Europe, had seen Dumbledore as a hero for opposing – and stopping Grindelwald and ending the dark wizard's reign of terror, but in time, he had come believe otherwise, as he'd seen how little had been done in the man's tenure as head of the International Confederation of Wizards.

Albus Dumbledore could have changed the world. He could have led an untouched Britain in helping to rebuild a shattered Continent. He could have brought the British people more fully into the community of magical nations. At the very least, he could have implemented educational reforms at Hogwarts, so that the youth of Britain were more aware of what happened in other nations – that they would care about the suffering in places like the Continent, instead of just dismissing it as something happening somewhere else, as they had done in the Grindelwald conflict.

But the man had done none of this. Instead, he had allowed the status quo to continue, leaving the Continent to recover on its own, refusing to involve himself in the workings of his own country, doing little to bring reform as Hogwarts' Headmaster.

It was as if Dumbledore was somehow afraid, a mouse paralyzed by the hoot of an owl, hoping that he held perfectly still, did nothing at all, the predator would go away.

At least, that was how Igor had seen things, though he didn't have any idea what could possibly be a threat to the wizard who had slain Grindelwald, save maybe his own strength, and the idea of someone being afraid of their own power was nigh ridiculous in his mind.

So, Karkaroff had removed Dumbledore from his mind as a role model, and had looked for others who could teach him, who could help him become strong.

What he found was a practitioner of the Dark Arts named Tom Marvolo Riddle – a man who styled himself a Lord and believed in the purity of might, an Englishman who dared to travel and learn what the world had the world to offer. The man had offered Igor – a talented young wizard – a place at his side, and the alumnus of Durmstrang had accepted.

At the time, he believed that he was one of Riddle's partners in changing the world through might, starting with a hopelessly corrupt Britain, whose people needed to be reminded that there was evil in the world, and that if they refused to stand against it, they might as well be perpetrating it. In exchange for his aid, the Dark Lord – no, _Riddle_ had taught him much, showing him rituals and spells long forgotten, helping him improve his facility with the arts of the mind.

The people he met – people like Severus Snape, an ambitious half-blood who was bullied by the aristocratic elite of Britain for his desire to make something of himself, or Antonin Dolohov, the only other Russian among Riddle's followers – had only reinforced his view that what they were doing was _right_ and _proper._

They offered him friendship, identity, respect, security. They offered him an ideology to follow and the promise that they were helping to save the world from itself, starting with a Britain that had already damned itself by its inaction.

One who knew power, Tom had explained, would use it to benefit those who did not. Granted, in the service of the greater good, innocent people would sometimes be hurt, but one could not create a revolution without some degree of unease, and with Britain so complacent, that unease had to be created.

A small evil, for the purpose of good.

Igor had seen that this was true enough, given that this was the philosophy all those in power used – even the Ministries, and that fear and inaction had cost the Continent far more than anything _he_ could do, so he had agreed with Tom's ideas.

They, the Knights of Walpurgis, would topple the corrupt Ministry of Britain, and doing so, would begin to fix the ignorance and suffering in the world.

Some days, Igor wondered where it had all gone wrong.

It had begun with some of his fellow Knights and Lieutenants exceeding their orders out of misplaced zeal, being too free with the Dark Arts – using them carelessly against a civilian population when there was no need. He had reprimanded his fellows, reminding him that there was a time and a place for these things, but the Dark Lord…Tom, had set aside the draconian punishments he had ordered, as "their hearts had been in the right place."

There had been more than a decade of these small incidents, a period of time when the Knights rebranded themselves as Death Eaters – those who would conquer death itself – donning black hoods and masks with snake-like eye slits to cover their faces. Looking back, he could see perfectly well that the change had been to inspire fear, so the populace would see those who attacked them not as fellow wizards, but as faceless, remorseless servants of the Dark who the Ministry could not identify, much less stop.

In that time, Igor had begun to feel that he had learned all Tom was willing to teach, and was becoming more jaded both the behavior of others in the organization, as they seemed to enjoy the necessary evil they committed _too_ much, and about any prospects for true change. Out of respect for the man who had taught him so much, he had arranged to meet with Voldemort in private, only for what had been meant as a private meeting to instead be a ceremony in which the inner circle – the oldest and most trusted of the Death Eaters, were branded with the Dark Mark, with the Dark Lord announcing an escalation of their activities.

From that time forward, there was no escape – no hope for escape – not when his every move could be tracked by Tom, when his fellows watched him – watched each other – for any sign of betrayal. No hope that was, until he was captured by the Ministry, with Lord Voldemort meeting his end at the hands of a powerless boy shortly thereafter.

Hearing the news from Alastor Moody's mouth had made Igor laugh at absurdity of it all, given that Tom was the most powerful wizard he'd ever met, for him to be undone by a mere child was…almost unbelievable. He hadn't believed it at first, thinking it was a lie – until he noticed that the Dark Mark had faded, and for the first time in a long time, there was hope for him.

To save himself, he had betrayed the other Death Eaters, though one could wonder if giving up their names was really betrayal, given that he long since ceased to feel loyalty to any of them – or even to Tom, who he feared more than anything else. Curiously, Auror Moody had seemed disgusted at his actions, something Karkaroff hadn't understood.

The Auror _wanted_ information about the other Death Eaters, right? So why, when the law enforcement official got it, did he look at Igor as if Igor should have shown more loyalty to his watchers? But perhaps he shouldn't have wondered. After all, Moody was himself a monster, a servant of a corrupt society who had wrought a terrible slaughter among the Death Eaters, and a bully, besides.

Still, Moody had kept his end of the bargain, and instead of being imprisoned, Igor was simply ejected from Britain as _persona non grata_. For some years, he cast about aimlessly, not knowing what to do with himself, until the post of Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute opened up. At first, he hadn't wanted to even think about becoming a teacher, given that he had once looked down on Dumbledore for choosing to remain a teacher instead of making something of himself, but as time went on, he realized how limited his options were.

No Ministry wanted him as an employee, given the possible scandal involved with his unfortunate past, and he knew little enough about how to survive in the world except through combat. He was a criminal, a veteran, a terrorist and more – someone who wasn't even sure who or what he was anymore after the fall of Lord Voldemort and the collapse of what had essentially been the cult the Dark Wizard had established.

So he had applied for the position of Headmaster at his _alma mater_ , and surprisingly, had been chosen to lead the school. Not because he was the fiercest of warriors, or because he was the luckiest, not because he was the smartest of the applicants, or the most loyal – but because he understood the dynamics of power and fear, and how might without discipline and honor were meaningless.

Headmaster Karkaroff shook his grey and weary head, as his hair was ruffled by a cool arctic breeze.

Soon the delegations from Beauxbatons and Hogwarts would arrive, with their students coming to this frozen land at the end of the world for the first time.

He wondered how they would react – especially Britain, in the wake of a tragedy far greater than anything he'd participated in as a Death Eater, which Banners the foreigners would choose to join, and of course, how the Tri-Wizard Tournament would turn out.

' _I wonder if by the end, they will understand…'_

"Headmaster Karkaroff?" a voice called from behind him, with Igor turning to see a statuesque redhead almost two meters in height who moved with a sense of absolute confidence and poise, clad a black robe trimmed with gold that marked her as a member of Raven Banner's command staff, though where her superior wore a chain of office and a medallion, she wore the coat of arms of Durmstrang in silver against a golden cauldron.

"Champion Sondrol," the Headmaster greeted, raising an eyebrow. "I take it preparations for the Feast of Welcome are complete?"

"They are, Headmaster," Lieutenant Rachelle Sondrol of the Banner of the Raven replied, inclining her head respectfully. "Everything is in place, and the Council of the Host has finished its meeting as well, with the Commanders having joined their subordinates."

"Very good, Champion Sondrol," Igor grunted. "And Lieutenants Krum and Morgenstern?"

"Lieutenant Krum and the honor guard he commands stand ready to greet those from Beauxbatons, while Lieutenant Morgenstern will be handling the greeting of Hogwarts," the Champion informed him, her green eyes reflecting light of the aurorae above. "It was felt that it would be…unwise for Lieutenant Krum to welcome the British school, given the recent…pleasantness, sir."

"A wise choice," Headmaster Karkaroff said approvingly. "I am glad my trust in you and the Council is not misplaced."

"We will endeavor not to disappoint you, sir."

"See that you don't," the Headmaster intoned. "Durmstrang may be a harsh place, and I harsher still, but history and the long memory of man is the harshest of all." Igor shook his head, feeling quite old as he looked on one so young, yet who already bore such responsibility. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw twin lights flash into existence, as the Norway portal – hidden in the nearby lake some called Ymir's well, flared into existence, with enormous horses surging forth from it and rising into the sky, and the Hogwarts Express steamed through the standalone portal the British had commissioned. "Well then, Champion Sondrol, I do believe it is time for you to retrieve the Long Banner. We shall meet our fellows in the Hall of Welcome, yes?"

"As you say, sir."

* * *

As she disembarked from the last of the Beauxbatons carriages to touch down on solid ground, behind Madame Maxine, the honored Headmistress of Beauxbatons, and Fleur Delacour, the current Etoile, Rachelle Perrot Lestrange could help but smile as she felt the fresh, cold air on her face – and as she saw the part-Veela pull her powder-blue muffler tighter about her face.

The young blonde was herself rather comfortable, but then, the set of dress robes, cloak and boots she wore had been specifically tailored to her specifications and enchanted for warmth and comfort, given the uncertain nature of the Potions Competition and its demands, while her peers wore only the standard uniform of Beauxbatons – a powder-blue set of dress (or robes), cape, and hat that certainly looked stylish, but didn't do much to protect the wearer from the elements.

' _I'm glad Fleur was picked as Etoile, as meeting her will be a fine test for the young men of Durmstrang, …'_ she thought to herself, as she watched the black-clad figure of Viktor Krum approach, trailed by two dozen students in crimson robes. _'Though I suppose if anyone had resistance to a Veela's charm, Viktor Krum would, given that he has been around them more than most…'_

Given that Krum was the Seeker of the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team, and that Bulgaria had brought Veela as mascots before, he no doubt had trained to resist their aura, so it wasn't his lack of reaction that interested her, but rather that of the crimson-clad honor guards.

' _They are maintaining their discipline in the face of Fleur's aura. Curious.'_

An aura that was expanding and growing stronger due to Fleur's discomfort with her surroundings, no less, though her face betrayed no sign of it, as befitted an Etoile.

Slowly, the parties came to a halt, only paces from one another, with Viktor Krum bowing to them and doffing his cap, with Madame Maxine nodding and Fleur curtseying, even as Rachelle heard those behind her sigh.

"Greetings, honored wizards and witches of Beauxbatons," Krum was saying as he straightened. "I am Viktor Krum, Lieutenant of the Banner of Wolves, and on behalf of Headmaster Karkaroff and the Banners of the Host, I welcome you to Durmstrang."

The honor guard seemed to underline his words with two sharp _cracks_ of their staves upon the ground.

"Merci, Lieutenant," Madame Maxine noted, gesturing for Fleur and Rachelle to step forward. When the part-Veela did so, the headmistress introduced her. "Lieutenant, zis is Fleur Delacour, _Etoile_ of Beauxbatons."

"Enchanté, lieutenant," Fleur Delacour replied, her long sheet of silvery blonde hair fluttering in the wind as she looked upon the Quidditch star with her deep blue eyes and nodded.

After Anton's…unfortunate demise, Rachelle supposed that it was only natural that the part-Veela was chosen as Beauxbatons' special representative. After all, Fleur had a significant power base at the Academy, given that she was not only ravishingly beautiful, charming, and rather graceful, but had an allure who could make men weak in the knees with a smile or glance.

Males wanted her, as did some of the girls at Beauxbatons, while most simply wanted to be her, a living example of the virtues espoused by the Academy. The Potions Champion herself fell into neither category, though she did tolerate the girl better than some of her peers, mostly since Fleur did not necessarily try to manipulate people – and she didn't bother with perfume.

' _A pity her reign will be so short, as I don't imagine being Etoile will matter much 'ere.'_

"And zis," the half-giantess said, as Rachelle herself stepped forward, "is Rachelle Perrot Lestrange, ze Potions Champion of Beauxbatons."

"A pleasure, lieutenant," Rachelle answered, curtseying to the young man, who bowed in turn. She found it interesting even in the face of Delacour's allure, his eyes were not fixed on the half-veela, nor on the half-giantess that was Beauxbatons' headmistress, but on the rapier she wore at her hip.

"The pleasure is mine, Champion," Krum commented deferentially. "Rachelle, you say? You and Champion Sondrol have a name in common then."

"Oh?"

Before she could ask more though, Madame Maxine interjected, with the half-giantess frowning as she she noticed the absence of a certain individual. "Ze Headmaster vill not be meeting us himself, Lieutenant?"

"He and Champion Sondrol will meet you in the Hall of Welcome, Madame Headmistress," Krum answered the half-giantess, his dark eyes taking note of the shivering students behind her. "As the environs of Durmstrang are not as kind or beautiful as those of Beauxbatons, he thought it best if his formal greetings were to occur within the castle."

That, and with Hogwarts arriving at the same time as the French school, it simply would not do for diplomatic purposes if the Headmaster – or Champion Sondrol – acting in her capacity as a representative of the Ministry of Norway & Durmstrang, were to meet with one, instead of the other.

"I see," the Headmistress noted coolly. "Very well, Lieutenant. Guide us, if you will."

Nodding once more, the Lieutenant of the Banner of Wolves proceeded to do so, with the honor guard spacing themselves out and taking charge of the columns from the other carriages.

As they walked, passing hundreds of students arrayed in the colors of the various Banners, all standing at attention, Lieutenant Krum quietly explained what would happen that evening, with the official greeting followed by the Choosing, with each student visiting Durmstrang entering the Chamber of Selection and determining which pillar of strength they aligned with most, after which climate appropriate uniforms would be issued.

' _My compatriots will be happy, though I don't know if some of ze sillier girls are swooning at Krum's voice, or at the thought of warm clothes. 'ow terrible.'_

It was an interesting thought to divide a school into different factions _officially_ though, as opposed to the unofficial factions that had existed even in Beauxbatons' supposedly united student body. _Idly_ , as she noted the chattering of teeth wondered if soon, Rachelle wondered if her classmates would soon be adding comments about the dark Etoile being literally cold blooded to the exaggerated tales that had sprung up regarding the events of the previous year.

"Champion Lestrange," Krum intoned as he walked, as Rachelle stepped forward, having fallen a little behind Fleur and Madame Maxine again. Truly, it was something of a curse to be so short and to have to walk besides a giantess! "A question, if you would?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?" she replied, surprised he had called out to her, not to the others. "What can I do for you?"

"Your rapier," the Bulgarian said quietly. The Potions Champion of Beauxbatons just looked at him, bidding him say more, so with a sigh, he did. "Durmstrang trains its students in melee combat, using staves, which is why one is part of our dress uniform. Your rapier though…"

"Ah. An heirloom of my family," Rachelle answered simply. "I carry it as my sidearm, by my right as Champion."

Krum looked at her for a moment, but nodded.

"And I do not seek to challenge that right," he said diplomatically. It was not his place to challenge a Champion of another school… "So long as you do not give me cause, Champion."

"That, I will not, Lieutenant."

Krum just grunted.

* * *

From a stage in the Hall of Welcome, Headmaster Karkaroff looked out upon the hosts of Beauxbatons and Hogwarts, with a scattering of his own students present, the rest having proceeded further inside to attend to other duties.

Orbs of light floated above them, casting a dappled illumination on the chamber, revealing the powder-blue masses of the French school led by Madame Maxine, who towered over the figures at her side – one a part veela from the allure he could feel even from a distance, and the other a cloaked blonde figure in navy chased with silver. Those of the British school, on the other hand, wore robes of pure black, and were led by the half-goblin Headmaster Flitwick, who was dwarfed by the five figures flanking him, with these clad in protective robes of grey, with hoods reminiscent of birds of prey, accented with belts of red.

One of the cloaked figures was no doubt the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, the one who had defeated Voldemort all those years ago, but the identity of the others he couldn't even begin to guess, though one of them was glaring at Lieutenant Krum, who had moved to join the Commanders and his fellow Lieutenants on the stage behind the Headmaster.

' _Troublesome, but not unexpected.'_

With that in mind, Karkaroff took a deep breath and spoke.

"Welcome and well met, comrades from distant France and Britain," he said, glancing over the crowd. "It is an impressive sight – an unprecedented sight – to see so many visitors in these halls, assembled together in the name of peace and celebration."

He met the eyes of both his fellow Headmasters and nodded.

"We are gathered here tonight to commemorate the revival of the Tri-Wizard Tournament – to see history in the making, and to remember the events that have transpired in the past – that have become our histories. No doubt, you all know the history of the Tri-Wizard Tournament as a contest between Champions, as a celebration of bravery and skill, but tonight I tell you that it is about more than that. It is an opportunity for you to live among us – and for us to live with you – learning from one another, sharing our cultures, growing as people and as wizards."

It seemed he had caught the attention of one of the grey-clad youths of Hogwarts with this statement, though why it was, he couldn't begin to imagine.

"For the duration of the Tournament, there will be no students solely of Hogwarts, no students solely of Beauxbatons. You will not be strangers among us, but comrades in our Banners, working beside us, training beside us, learning and living beside us as Wolf, Serpent, or Raven. You will learn the skills to survive in these frozen lands, in the heat of battle, and in the world outside, just as we will seek to learn of your traditions and what it is you value most. In accordance with this, your Headmasters will join me in regulating disciplinary issues as a triumvirate – just as we will judge the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

He gestured for the part-goblin Headmaster of Hogwarts and the half-giantess of Beauxbatons to join him on stage, which they did, turning to look at the surprised crowd.

"But that is my piece. To speak about what it means to be a Champion, I can think of no one more suitable than one who is already a Champion – who represents the entirety of Durmstrang," Karkaroff intoned, as he stepped back, along with the other Headteachers. "Champion Sondrol, if you would grace us with a word?"

The statuesque redhead stepped forward, the light of the orbs floating above glinting from her flame-coloured hair and the gold trim of her robes, making her seem like some hero of legend as she looked out upon the crowds, with two people in particular paying very close attention to her.

"Thank you, Headmaster Karkaroff," Rachelle Sondrol began, finding her gaze drawn by a motion in the corner of her eye, as the petite figure standing before the students of Beauxbatons doffed her hood, revealing the face of a young woman whose features were framed by finely textured golden hair, as had one of the grey cloaked figures standing before the students of Hogwarts, revealing the features of an easterner and hair so black it was almost blue. "As Champion of Durmstrang, I would like to welcome you as well, with a special welcome to my peers as Champions, who no doubt know what I am about to say."

There were murmurs from the crowd at this, as a number of faces turned questioningly toward the two who had revealed their faces, with Lieutenant Sondrol finding the race of the Hogwarts Champion curious, since she knew the British preferred their own.

' _How unusual…'_

But that was something for another time.

"We speak of fame for the victor of the Tournament. Of Eternal Glory and Honor in triumph, but I say to you that there is honor in even being chosen as a Champion, chosen as the very best of your school and country, to represent your peers in the eyes of the world itself," she continued, her words commanding the attention of the crowd. "But even then, it is about more than the self. Yes, there is honor for the one so chosen, but there is also honor for one's family, one's ancestors, one's school and one's people, as none of us could become champions without the support and guidance of those who have stood beside us, whether they number among the living, or have passed into memory. If we stand tall, it is because something drive us – something pulls us forward – and others have inspired us, given us the courage and conviction that we can be not only the best of who we are, but more than we ever imagined."

Her figure almost seemed to glow in the dim light as she spoke, her husky contralto filled with passion.

"By this time tomorrow, there will be three more Champions among us – three chosen by the Goblet of Fire as most worthy to compete in the trials of the Tournament to come. They will stand on the field alone, testing their wits, skill, and strength against each other and the challenges this land has to offer, seeking to survive, seeking to excel and be acknowledged as one of the greatest young wizards or witches in a generation. Seeking to be crowned as sole Champion of the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

"For those of you who wish to be a Champion, remember this – that the Goblet will only choose the most worthy – and that if you are chosen, there will be no second chances. To be a Champion is a commitment to give everything of yourself, to live as a paragon of virtue above all, whether in victory or defeat, in life or in death. My friends – my future comrades – know this: that there is great glory in victory, but glory even in passing, so long as we have done our part. For even in passing, we achieve immortality, becoming infinite in distance and unbound by flesh, our souls released to join the ones we honor in the memories of the past, living eternally so long as we are remembered by the ones whose lives we have touched. Thank you."

As the Champion of Durmstrang finished speaking, there was silence, as no one knew exactly how to respond to what she'd said, until one lone figure – the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons – began to clap, joined shortly thereafter by the Potions Champion of Hogwarts _,_ and a number of others.

* * *

After that came the Choosing, in which each of the assembled students chose a Banner under whose authority they'd fall, with Rachelle Lestrange choosing to join the Banner of Ravens and was granted a black robe, chased with golden traceries, with the coat of arms of Beauxbatons emblazoned in silver against a golden cauldron at her breast, which she wore over her dress, with her cloak thrown over her arm.

She made her way into the Great Hall, where the Commanders and their Lieutenants were already seated at the heads of their respective Banners, her eyes seeking out the Potions Champion of Durmstrang.

As if the other could feel her gaze, the redhead turned, as silver eyes looked into green, and the world seemed to stop for one enchanted moment as the Rachelles found themselves smiling at one another, with the Potions Champion of Durmstrang seemingly pleased by her choice of Banner, even as she was curious about the rapier she wielded.

" _Join me,"_ her eyes seemed to say, and so Rachelle Perrot Lestrange did, moving to sit beside the Raven Lieutenant, for a most enjoyable meal, though frankly, she didn't really remember what it was she ate, or what she talked about, simply that there was something there that made her curious, and that perhaps, for once in a very long time, it wasn't so bad spending time with someone else – especially as that person smelled like her, but not – like potions and the wild, life and death.

Rachelle Perrot Lestrange did notice however, that Fleur Delacour, Etoile of Beauxbatons, emerged from the Chamber of Selection dressed in the golden robes of the Banner of Ravens, and moved to sit beside _her_ – no doubt as she was someone familiar, with one of the boys of Hogwarts emerging from the Chamber in a black robe much like her own, choosing not to sit beside Fleur, but across from Champion Sondrol, inclining his head respectfully.

' _Zat must be the first time a male has chosen not to sit next to – or across from – Fleur, if given the chance,'_ she thought to herself, putting a hand to her rapier to let the solidity of it calm her. _''ow curious…'_

Unnoticed by her, one other formerly grey-cloaked figures made her way to the Banner of Ravens, seating herself at the far end, away from the assembled Champions, while another – a redhead– went to the Banner of Wolves, where he sat across from Viktor Krum, glowering, until he was reprimanded by Commander Terum, with the two remaining notables of Hogwarts – one of them the Boy Who Lived – joining the Banner of Serpents.


	26. Reflections

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 26.** _Reflections_

Steam rose from the heated surface of a hot spring, with Matou Shinji finding the tension, aches, and pains in his body bleeding away as he luxuriated in the embrace of the warm water around him. Save for the once up in _Shiretoko_ , when he and Luna had enjoyed a soak in a pool whose waters had been rich with the energies of life, he'd never actually been in a proper hot spring before, and enjoying one for the first time was…was incredible.

' _It's like I could just drift away. The heat of the pool, the cold air above, the northern lights dancing among the stars. It's all quite…beautiful,'_ the boy thought to himself, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips. _'I never would have figured that Durmstrang would have a place like this, especially not after what I saw when we arrived…'_

Disembarking from the _Hogwarts Express_ , a still somewhat drowsy Matou Shinji had been stunned to full wakefulness by the sight before him: the might of the Host of Durmstrang arrayed in full parade dress, a mighty army of witchcraft practitioners standing at attention, their robes of red and green and gold gleaming under the painted sky.

Aside from what he'd seen at the USA vs Japan quarterfinal game for the Quidditch World Cup, this was the single largest group of practitioners he'd ever seen gathered for a single purpose, and unlike the spectators that that event, these had been trained in combat. He could see it in their postures, in their unnatural stillness, in the focus they held. He could see it in the way the honor guard responded so crispy to the orders of Lieutenant Ludwig Morgenstern, and how the group of Durmstrang students moved to escort the Hogwarts party inside.

Matou Shinji could see it in the way the Lieutenant looked him over, as well as his grey-robed compatriots, as if assessing them as possible threats to the security of the school.

…not that the contingent of Hogwarts that was present would be much of a threat to the hosts, given that they were outnumbered, 10 to 1.

He'd also been quite… _impressed_ with Rachelle Sondrol, the Potions Champion of Durmstrang and Lieutenant of the Banner of Ravens, and not just because of her undeniable attractiveness and sensuality, the respect she commanded, or the skill and power she no doubt possessed to have been chosen as – no, to win the title of – Champion in a school of warriors. No, what had impressed him most was that she understood that there was so much more involved in being a Champion than personal glory.

That more than being a personal honor, and an acknowledgement of one's abilities and efforts, being a Champion was a commitment to those one was a champion _for._

But then, he supposed that if anyone would understand that, it was the representative of a school whose students were trained in the arts of war, given that the Champion system was derived from an ancient martial tradition, where in the distant past, the outcome of a battle or a war had often determined by single combat between two individuals.

'… _well, not_ just _in the distant past…'_ he reflected soberly, thinking of the blood-red design on his upper left arm, the Seals which marked him as a Master in the coming Grail War. No, not as Master – or rather not _just_ as a Master.

What was it he had said to the King of Heroes when the youth had challenged him? That he was willing to give everything of himself for the salvation of mankind?

On his own, Matou Shinji knew he possessed not the strength to live up to such a declaration, that he lacked the inherent goodness, bravery, and personal sense of virtue to live up to what he had sworn – but he hadn't sworn what he did because he was some hero of legend. He'd done it because that was what he knew Sion would have done in his place, because before whatever else he was, he was _her_ Champion.

Not Hogwarts' Champion, or Britain's Champion.

Hers.

If he stood tall today, was acknowledged by his peers as something to be respected or admired, and had become someone worth something to the wizarding world, it was because _she_ , who he aspired to one day stand with as an equal, had believed in him. She had trusted him with her secrets, confiding in him during his first year at Hogwarts, when he wasn't really anyone of worth – at least, not to anyone in the know. She had even spent time with him – and he knew how valuable a Director's time must be –without really demanding anything in return.

He owed her more than he could ever truly repay – and the fact that she would never demand payment – and that indeed, there really wasn't anything he could do to repay her, made him all the more resolved to never disappoint her.

Aside from Luna, he hadn't thought that any other practitioner of witchcraft in Europe understood what that was like, but it appeared he'd been wrong.

Speaking of Luna…

When he emerged from the Chamber of Selection, after choosing to join the Banner of Ravens (an outcome which had never really been in doubt, given that what he valued was knowledge), he'd been surprised to see a doppelganger of her clad in the uniform of a Potions Champion seated at the table reserved for the Banner of Ravens, sandwiched between the Raven Lieutenant and a taller girl of Beauxbatons who he found himself strongly drawn towards, despite never having met her before.

As he approached the table, he was tempted – sorely tempted – to claim a seat by the mysterious beauty's side, to engage her in conversation, to find out more about her, to simply bask in her presence – until his gaze came across the Luna doppelganger once more and as cool silver eyes looked into his grey, his momentarily suppressed thought processes managed to reassert themselves, with his feet carrying him not to the side of the alluring maiden, but to the head of the table, where he took a seat at the Raven Commander's left hand, across from Champion Sondrol.

There, he'd taken the opportunity to present both the Commander and the Champion with a set of Acromantula fang dagger-wands, a gift that had raised some eyebrows, given what it implied about the gifter. Sadly, that was the extent of his interaction with Lieutenant Sondrol, given the ambient noise of the Feast, and the fact that the Raven Commander – the tall, but soft-spoken Andreas Tørnquist – had more or less monopolized him, even as the lion's share of Lieutenant Sondrol's time and attention was occupied by the Luna doppelgänger.

The situation had continued after the feast, when the Banners had retired to their individual abodes for the evening, with the new members being given an orientation as to the duties expected of them, the schedules they would have, and of course, rooming assignments, with the newcomers split up and assigned to bunks in the rooms of Durmstrang students of their year. Though it had not been explained in such terms, the objective of this was to prevent the visitors from gaining any sort of local numerical superiority, thus reducing their threat potential in case of a worst-case scenario, and to integrate them into the existing command structure of the Institute, where they'd be surrounded by experienced students modelling what was expected of them

Shinji had been a bit pensive as he listened to the briefing, as he knew he did not do well when forced to room with others, but as it turned out, he'd worried for naught, as the Commander took him aside after the briefing and personally showed him to his room. To his vast relief, this was not some large barrack style dormitory, but a private room in the basement of Raven's Keep, which itself had been outfitted into a well-furnished common living area.

Commander Tørnquist had explained that the basement of the Keep – accessible only to assigned guests or those with Command-rank authorization – was one of the most secure locations to be found in all of Durmstrang, rivalled only by the corresponding areas in Wolf Tower and Serpent's Refuge, and was meant for the housing and protection of dignitaries.

As a Champion, Matou Shinji warranted a room in this area for security and privacy concerns, as did the Beauxbatons Potions Champion, the British Media Representative, and any Tri-Wizard Champions the Banner of Ravens had the honor of hosting.

"What about the Durmstrang Potions Champion, Lieutenant Sondrol?" Shinji had asked, with the Commander mentioning that as his Lieutenant, she had her own quarters in the Tower, and preferred to be closer to those she led, though as a Champion, she _was_ entitled to use the area below if she so chose.

And after that…

"Comfortable, Matou?" Andreas Tørnquist asked from somewhere nearby, with Shinji glancing over through the mist to see the shadowy form of the sandy-haired Commander leaning back against the rocks lining the great pool, looking up at the sky, where ribbons of green and red danced among the stars.

…Shinji had been invited to join the Raven Commander for a soak in one of Durmstrang's hot springs, enjoying one of the few creature-comforts of the Institute. On any other occasion, Shinji might have demurred, as he was somewhat particular about his privacy, but given the day he'd had, his aching body vetoed those other paltry concerns, as a long soak sounded particularly wonderful.

"I am, yes," the Hogwarts Potions Champion murmured with a faint smile as he closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of the warm water around him. "After the day I've had, with duels and trials and training, this is exactly what I needed."

"There you and I agree," the Dane mused aloud. "These northern lands are harsh and cold, and after a long day, there is hardly anything better than these springs. Hence communal bathing in these natural springs is something of a tradition of the Nordic peoples."

"…heh, mine too, actually," Shinji admitted, thinking about the many _onsen_ – hot springs and the inns built around them – in Japan, and the place they held in Japanese culture. "Not that I've often had the pleasure of enjoying such."

"Oh?" Andreas questioned, cocking an eyebrow as he glanced over at Shinji. "From the complaints I heard about being forced to bathe with strangers, and the mutters of how barbaric the lack of privacy was, I would have imagined otherwise..."

Shinji chuckled and shook his head.

"They're just used to private showers," he explained, recalling how there were private bathrooms at Hogwarts with running water – with one even said to have taps from which scented bubbles flowed. "Whereas for me...this is like home."

"Home?" the Raven Commander echoed, a smile playing upon his lips as he turned back to the spectacle of the sky. "Then you're not a native of Britain, I take it?"

"Japan."

"Ah." There was a moment's pause as Andreas processed that, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion. "And yet you attend Hogwarts, not _Mahoutokoro?_ How strange."

Shinji just shook his head.

"It's a very long and complicated story. One I don't feel like going into at the moment, if it's all the same to you," the Japanese boy replied, with Andreas nodding.

"As you will," the Commander allowed with a shrug. "In that case, I hope things have not been too difficult for you, given the anti-foreigner sentiment that's arisen since the Quidditch World Cup?"

It was Shinji's turn to shrug, as something between a chuckle and a sigh issued from his lips.

"It is what it is," the Boy from the East said wearily, shaking his head. "I hear it's something of a mess, but frankly, I only just got back to Hogwarts earlier today, following a period of extended training in Potions and survival, so I wouldn't know how things are back in Britain."

"Heh," Andreas noted, a slight smile crossing his lips as he heard the other's words. "You're taking your role as Champion seriously, then?"

"Of course," Shinji answered.

And he was, for to do anything less would be a betrayal of his patron, showing that he was unfit to even think about one day standing by her side. Without her, she whose interest had prompted Aozaki Touko to take him as an apprentice for a time, who had kept him steady and sane during his first year at Hogwarts, who had acknowledged him as someone of worth, he would be _nothing_. He would be the failure his former family had believed him to be, or if not a failure, a mediocrity among mediocrities, trying his hardest to pretend he was something he wasn't.

"Good." There was a note of approval in the other's voice, as the Commander nodded slowly. "It is good to see someone who understands the responsibilities of being a Champion, and the discipline involved. Again, given your peers…"

"The attitude is something more from my Japanese upbringing than anything I picked up in Britain," Shinji interjected, shaking his head. "I'd be the first to admit that my compatriots at Hogwarts can sometimes be…"

"Unruly?" the Raven Lord suggested wryly.

Shinji sighed deeply as he recalled some of the events of the last few years.

"Yes."

"I see," Andreas commented. "It must be difficult being at Hogwarts then. To be immersed in a culture not your own, speaking a different tongue from the one you first learned, around people who do not truly understand you. And yet…having to be their Champion."

"It is, sometimes," Shinji admitted, shaking his head. "It's not as much of a shock now as it used to be, but sometimes, they surprise me." He glanced over at the sandy-haired youth, raising a curious eyebrow. "Isn't that ever the case here, with people from all around Europe attending Durmstrang? With people from so many countries, so many cultures, probably even speaking different languages, how does everyone come to understand each other?"

"That's what our system is for," the Raven Commander explained quietly. "Whoever and whatever one may have been before one came to the Durmstrang Institute is irrelevant, because from the moment one arrives as a student, you become part of a greater whole. More than gender, creed, nationality, what matter is that you are one of us, a member of a Banner, with responsibilities to your peers and superiors, as we have responsibilities to you. The way Durmstrang is set up, no one feels entirely at home at first, with everyone going through the same shocks and learning experiences, the same trials and tribulations and hardships. The chores, the discipline, the grousing, the need to learn a new language – the inter-Banner rivalries – all of them help build a common identity."

"Bringing everyone together as a cohort, no matter one's background," Shinji summed up, comparing it with the House system of Hogwarts and finding the latter fairly lacking. Then again, due to Hogwarts' normal service area being Great Britain and Ireland, both English-speaking countries with some similarities in culture, he supposed that there wasn't nearly as much of a need for it. "Taking individuals and turning them into something more – comrades."

"Indeed," Andreas noted solemnly, turning to meet Shinji's eyes. "The skies here may be beautiful, but the lands are harsh and unforgiving, not at all like what I hear of Hogwarts and its comforts. As I understand it, in Britain, the weather is pleasant enough most days of the year, there is no need for enchanted clothing to keep from freezing to death, and you have servitors to provide for your every need – to cook, clean, and more. There is even a nearby village which you can visit for luxuries such as chocolate."

"Well, yes," Shinji admitted, frowning at the implications of the other's words. "You mean to say there's none of that here?"

"Indeed," the Raven Lord confirmed. "We have our equipment, our castle, and one another. To survive here, we are forced to work together, to rely on – or at the very least, to respect – each other, even if we cross wands or staves. We must care for the buildings and equipment which keeps us whole and hale. We must be willing to learn the rules of war – of how to disagree, how to fight in a conflict, how to achieve one's goals without destroying the reason one sought them in the process. In this place, the margin of error is very small indeed, and as much as we may disagree with one another, we must still work together for a common cause."

"Mm. The rules here are different from those of the world outside," the Boy from the East noted thoughtfully. "As if this isle rested within a great bounded field."

"Hm?"

"Oh, sorry. A magic circle," he corrected, seeing the blank expression on Andreas' face.

"Just so," Commander Tørnquist confirmed. "In time of course, we will have to leave this place and return to the outside world, to the duties and cares we put aside when we came here to become all that we could be. But for now...we are here and this is who we are. The Host of Durmstrang, with myself as one of its three Commanders."

"So it seems," Shinji acknowledged. "Quite a feat to reach that rank, I'd imagine. You've done rather well for yourself, Raven Lord."

"Only because I am known to rule fairly, and have never been involved in any of the internecine strife that sometimes arises in our Banner," the Dane remarked. "My intrigues tend to be worked against the other Banners, which admittedly is one of the reasons that Sylvana, the Wolf Commander, doesn't much care for me. That and compared to her and Radu, I am not _quite_ as capable a duelist."

"The Banner of the Wolf prizes unity and loyalty, the Serpent skill and stealth, the Raven knowledge and ingenuity," Shinji quoted, recalling the speech by Headmaster Karkaroff.

"Indeed. Though that is more of the overall philosophy for each Banner than a perfect descriptor of every individual in the Banners," Tørnquist explained. "For instance, by those standards, you would likely think that the Commander of the Banner of Serpents is the best duelist at Durmstrang, but he's not."

"Oh?" Shinji questioned, curious now. "Who is then?"

"Champion Sondrol, with the Wolf Commander as a close second," the Raven Lord related with a slight smile. "My own strengths lie in governing. In runes and traps and the magic of the mind. In potions."

"Potions, you say?" Shinji echoed. "I'm surprised you're not Potions Champion then."

But Andreas only shook his head.

"Lieutenant Sondrol is nearly at my level in brewing as it is, and is my better on the battlefield," the Dane answered with a shrug. "I may be her better in the brewing and use of potions, but not by much, as I taught her much of what I know as her price for defecting from the Banner of Wolves. Perhaps on one level, that was a mistake, but whatever the outcome for myself, the greater glory is to the Banner of Ravens and to Durmstrang as a whole." And as he said those words, the Raven Commander smiled. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one."

"Isn't that more of a Wolf philosophy?" the Boy from the East questioned.

"Indeed it is," Andreas acknowledged plainly. "But it would be rare to find anyone of Command rank who has only ever been in one Banner."

"Huh." And that was another thing that intrigued Matou Shinji – that at Durmstrang, students could change their Banners. "I'd forgotten about that. Being able to change Banners…it must make for interesting situations."

"Oh? Can one not change Houses at Hogwarts?" the Raven Commander inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"...no, we can't," Shinji told him, shaking his head. "Once one is sorted into a House at the beginning of first year, there one stays."

"Seems odd to decide the destiny of a child when they are eleven, without giving them the opportunity to revisit their choice as they grow and change," Andreas mused. "I'm not the same person I was when I first came to Durmstrang, after all, and chose to join the Banner of Serpents, alongside my then-friend Sylvana."

"It's complicated, huh?" Shinji remarked, as Andreas chuckled and shook his head.

"You could say that, Matou," the Raven Lord acknowledged. "I suppose that may be why they don't allow you to change at Hogwarts, because they want you to have more of a childhood. Because if you remain in one house, it is easier to make – and keep friends, even if you come to see the others as foreign, as dangerous. Because unlike us, you didn't need that sense of unity and respect – you didn't have to give your all just to survive."

"Mm." Shinji thought that made a great deal of sense. "That may not be the case anymore, from what I hear."

"True. War changes everything," the sandy-haired youth noted, a shadow of something grim and terrible flashing across his features for a moment before it was replaced with his usual easy-going expression. "Though I hope it does not come to that."

"…I do as well," the Boy from the East said softly. "If it does…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Well, we'll burn that bridge when we come to it." Shinji sighed deeply at this. "Anyway, we were discussing the Houses of Hogwarts."

"Yes?"

"In my experience, I was fortunate enough to be chosen as a Ravenclaw. A house which, like the Banner you govern, values knowledge. Given the leanings of the others, I am not sure I would have fit in anywhere else."

"Mm, and what were the others?"

"Slytherin, which values cunning and ambition; Gryffidor, which values bravery and determination; and Hufflepuff, which values hard work and loyalty."

"You wouldn't have fit in as a Hufflepuff?" Andreas questioned, his tone arch and dry. "I would think becoming Champion would require a great deal of hard work."

"…well, I suppose that might not have been a bad fit," Shinji admitted. It wasn't if he could complain about the yellow and black colors of the house either, given the colors of the Banner of Ravens. "But…"

"There were other factors," the Raven Lord supplied.

"Well. Yes."

None of the other Houses would have had Sokaris, after all. And given that Hufflepuff had traditionally been looked down upon as the House of the leftovers, it wouldn't have sat well with him to be sorted there, not at all.

"I'll leave it at that, then," Andreas allowed, sensing there were things that the Hogwarts Potions Champion didn't really feel comfortable talking about. "Though you should know that many of your peers aren't entirely happy with having to join one of our Banners."

"Why so?" Shinji asked.

"Because they're used to thinking of themselves as members of a House, with those from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff especially feeling somewhat…displaced," the Raven Lord related, inclining his head. "Or so my year-captains have observed."

"…I suppose that when you get used to thinking of yourself as a snake, a lion, an eagle, or a badger, it must rankle when your choices are Serpent, Raven, and Wolf," Shinji remarked. "Or when there's no Banner that values your ideal of courage."

"There doesn't need to be," Andreas countered. "Durmstrang as a whole values courage, so why should it be the province of any one Banner?"

"You might have a point there," the Potions Champion admitted, as a bit curiosity came over him. "If you can tell me, what's the situation like with the students of Beauxbatons?"

"Aside from them being quite happy that we issued them appropriate clothing for this northern clime?" Tørnquist asked wryly. "They don't seem to have complaints, but then they imbibe the social graces with their first drink, or I am led to believe. From what I'm told I would have fit in well there, but then, we are where we are for a reason, I think." The Dane who commanded the Banner of Ravens smiled faintly as he turned to Shinji. "Don't you agree, Matou Shinji of Hogwarts?"

Shinji chuckled as he looked over, meeting the other's eyes.

"I do, actually," the Boy from the East said after a moment. "In some ways, I would have fit in better at _Mahoutokoro_ , but as it was, I found myself at Hogwarts instead. Certainly, it hasn't been the easiest place to adapt to, and it might well have been easier for me to stay in Japan, but I can't deny that it has given me quite a few opportunities. In the time I've been a student, I've become far more than I ever thought I could be – with opportunities I doubt I would have had, if I remained at home."

"That you became Potions Champion of Hogwarts at such a young age implies you're being modest, Matou," the Commander noted. "After all, talent will take root in any fertile soil, so are you certain that it was coming to Hogwarts which allowed you to grow? Or was it just a coincidence?"

The boy paused as an old memory came to mind, that of a mysterious shopkeeper who had half-terrified him two years ago when he and Harry had gone to buy Tohsaka a present.

"An interesting question," Shinji murmured, shaking his head. "I don't really have an answer to that, though I will say that someone once told me that there is no such thing as coincidence. That there is only…the inevitable."

"The inevitable?" Andreas echoed.

"The word she used was _hitsuzen_ ," the Matou boy explained with a sigh. "A concept which means that once a path is chosen, there are certain actions and consequences that must follow."

"Hm." The Raven Lord seemed contemplative at Shinji's words. "Still, you have the freedom to choose the path you take, yes?"

"As much freedom as anyone ever really has," Shinji countered, shrugging. "After all, what we choose and what we only _think_ we choose aren't always the same."

"...no, I suppose they're not," Andreas Tørnquist admitted. "There are always hidden factors, unforeseen circumstances, and the fact that we don't know what we don't know. Still, our Banner's ideal is to minimize these unknowns, to help us make the right choices in war – or in peace." He chuckled then, something of an unexpected sound for Matou Shinji. "Still, better to make the make the wrong decision and lose something than to make no decision at all and lose everything in the process."

"Heh…that I can agree to," Shinji said whole-heartedly. Feeling somewhat more relaxed, he glanced around, and was surprised by how big the spring seemed. "Out of curiosity, who normally uses these springs? I know they're not the communal ones used by the Banner as a whole, but…"

"In other years, this is used by our Banner's Quidditch team," Andreas noted languidly. "With no Quidditch this year, the decision was made to repurpose it for the use of Champions and other dignitaries instead, so you can bathe in peace."

That aside from sleeping, bathing was the time a person was most vulnerable to attack, had been a fairly significant consideration there.

"I see."

This surprised the Hogwarts Potions Champion, for Matou Shinji had never imagined that in these foreign lands, he and his peers would be given these sorts of privileges, especially not at dour Durmstrang, which seemed to take everything quite seriously. But then, he supposed there was more to the school and to the decisions it made than met the eye.

"Of course, I usually use the spring set aside for the Banner and its officer's, but I thought this might nice for a change, since there are fewer of you than there are year-captains," Andreas smiled slyly. "Privileges of my rank, you see."

"Might as well take advantage of it," Shinji shot back with a smile.

"Indeed."

The two were silent for some time thereafter, with both of them sinking into the water and simply enjoying their peaceful surroundings, with the steam rising from the surface and the water's warm embrace serving as a nice counterpoint to the frigid air above.

Sometime later – neither could sure quite how long – the sound of splashing broke their reverie, with Shinji glancing over toward the sound, his breath catching in his throat as he noticed the silhouetted forms of two young women slipping into the water in the distance.

One was quite tall and curvaceous, and from the way she moved, unmistakably the Potions Champion of Durmstrang. The other was much smaller and slimmer, with what seemed to be Luna's proportions, which would make her the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons.

Neither seemed to be aware there were others in the rather large pool, given the fog, with Shinji torn between feeling happy about this, or miffed that the steam had kept him from being able to see who it was more clearly.

' _The heat made me a bit complacent…'_

"Rachelle, is that you?" the Raven Commander called out, without looking over.

"Huh?" an unfamiliar voice responded, the sweet French lilt within covered up by shock and annoyance as the shorter of the two women stood up in the shallow water, her face glancing sharply in the direction from which the commander's voice had come. "Qui est là?"

Before the French girl could do anything else, however, her companion touched her wrist, causing her to turn in confusion.

"Calm, Miss Lestrange," another voice instructed, this one a husky contralto Shinji recognized as belonging to Champion Sondrol, with the other shaking her head and sinking back into the water, though she seemed…agitated. "I know that voice."

"Ah?"

"Commander Tørnquist, it appears we had the same idea," the voice of Rachelle Sondrol spoke again, with the half-submerged Dane chuckling in response.

"So it appears, Lieutenant Sondrol," Andreas answered calmly, seeming almost amused. "No need to stand on formalities, Rachelle. It's not as if we haven't bathed together before, and in closer quarters, at that."

"That may be so, sir, but with all due respect, the Beauxbatons Potions Champion – who is also named Rachelle – is a bit more protective of her privacy than I," the Raven Lieutenant commented wryly. "For the very reasons we enacted some of the security protocols, no less."

"I see," the Raven Commander said neutrally. "Would you prefer that we leave you two alone then, Miss Lestrange?"

"Eh…bien…" the other voice – that of the French Champion said uncertainly. "Miz Sondrol? What should we…?"

"Andreas is harmless. He doesn't bite unless you ask him to," the Potions Champion of Durmstrang commented, with Miss Lestrange's cheeks heating at the very thought. "But if you're there, Andreas, I imagine the Hogwarts Champion is here as well?"

"Astute as always, Miss Sondrol," Tørnquist answered in a smooth baritone. "But then, I would expect no less from the one who bested me."

"Flatterer."

"Why, was that a compliment, Rachelle?"

"No," Rachelle Sondrol quipped wryly, in tones that fairly clearly meant "yes."

"Ah, alas. Pity that," Andreas commented, shaking his head with a hint of amusement. "So, what will it be, Lieutenant, would you prefer we leave? If it makes our guest uncomfortable…"

"Non! Ah, that is, not on my account," the Beauxbatons Champion spoke up, shaking her head. "Just don't...don't come closer. I don't much like..."

'… _people,'_ she wanted to say. Or perhaps men, given that their stronger scents bothered her quite a bit normally. In the spring though, she couldn't really sense them, and as long as neither group could really see the other, she supposed it was alright.

After all, the others had been enjoying the spring first.

"I understand, Miss Lestrange," the Raven Commander replied gravely, inclining his head, "and I thank you for your generosity. As it is, the bath is rather large enough for all of us, I think, since it _is_ meant to accommodate an entire Quidditch team."

"Oui," the French girl agreed. "And...your companion? Ze Potions Champion of Hogwarts? Who is...?"

"Matou Shinji, Potions Champion of Hogwarts, at your service," the Japanese boy said, as he deliberately turned away from the tempting half-hidden silhouette of the Beauxbatons girl who reminded him so of Luna to look once again towards the great curtains of delicate light that hung and trembled in the sky. Pale green and rose-pink, and as transparent as the most fragile fabric, and at the bottom edge a profound fiery crimson like color of blood, they swung and shimmered loosely with more grace than the most skillful dancer, a spectacle for the sense beyond compare.

"Rachelle Perrot Lestrange, _Alchimiste et Championne des Potions et de L'Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons_."

"…an Alchemist, did you say?" Shinji echoed reverently, swallowing as he glanced at towards girl hidden behind the steam.

"Oui," Rachelle Lestrange confirmed. "Vous êtes un Alchemiste aussi? You are one…as vell?"

"So I aspire to be," Shinji remarked, his fingers brushing the Command Seals on his upper arm. "Though I cannot claim the title. Yet."

"I…see."

There was silence for a time after that, until the Raven Commander spoke once more.

"I must say I didn't expect all of us to end up here," Andreas commented, with a wry twist of his lips. "Three Champions in one Banner, much less one spring. We'll have to take better care with scheduling in the future, I suppose."

"Indeed," Rachelle Sondrol sighed. "And if we should happen to be host to a Tri-Wizard Champion as well…"

"Well, yes, it would be messy, but it would also be an honor," the Dane noted. "Much as it is an honor to have all three of you under my Banner."

"Merci."

"And I suppose it's a good thing that we're all decent people, yes?" Lieutenant Sondrol quipped, with Andreas chuckling at the query.

"Well, I am sometimes. Or so I've been told," Shinji drawled, as the four young people settled in for a relaxing soak. "Though, on that note, do any of you have any ideas who the Tri-Wizard Champions will be? Or which Banner they'll be from? I can say that from Hogwarts, I'm expecting George Weasley, who joined the Banner of Serpents, to become Champion…"

After all, with Harry having no interest in participating, and George having the benefit of a _satori_ bond, there was little possibility of any other candidate surpassing him.

"I think…" Miss Lestrange said slowly, "that ze Beauxbatons Champion vill be Miz Delacour, our Etoile."

Andreas' grunted.

"The one seated next to the other side of you, Miss Lestrange?" Rachelle Sondrol queried. "She's part-Veela, if I'm not mistaken, from the allure?"

"Oui," the French Champion said hesitantly as she looked down. "But…normally, it is only men who are…who can feel…"

"Oh, is that so?" the Champion of Durmstrang commented in her husky contralto, a very slight smile crossing her features. "How very…interesting."

Andreas frowned slightly, shaking his head as his expression went distant.

"If you're curious about Durmstrang's potential Champion, it is likely to be Viktor Krum," the Raven Lord intoned. "Which is both an honor, and a worry."

"A worry…?" Shinji echoed. "Why ever so?"

"Maybe I'm just being a bit paranoid, but it has to do with the fact that tonight – and tonight alone – there is no curfew, so that people can submit their names to the Goblet without everyone else seeing them, or any pressure," Andreas related. "In fact, we weren't allowed to post a contingent around the Goblet for that very reason. The trouble is, in the absence of discipline, with so many unknown elements and the recent tensions…."

Anything could happen.


	27. From Shadows

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 27.** _From Shadows_

' _There he is…'_

At the sight of the man he hated more than anything in the world, a disillusioned Nathaniel Stebbins took a deep breath and tightened his grip on his wand. This was it. After months of preparation, everything came down to the next few minutes, when he – and the brave few who stood with him – would either accomplish what they set out to do and be lauded as heroes for striking a blow against evil, or would themselves be struck down, becoming just another group of the Dark Wizard's victims.

Victims like his parents, torn apart before his eyes by ravenous wolves.

Victims like his fallen friends, their bodies crushed and broken by evil-shaped forms too massive to comprehend.

Victims like his sister Claudia, a gentle girl who'd wanted nothing more than to be a Healer, to make the world a better place with magic. A girl who'd been afflicted by the terrible curse of a lycan's bite, who had begged for him to let her die so she would be free of the pain. A girl whose last wish he had granted with his own two hands.

Even now, the image of her piercing green eyes haunted him.

' _Please…don't let no one else suffer like I did,'_ they seemed to whisper in his mind. _'Please…'_

Those eyes expected far too much.

After all, Stebbins wasn't some hero of legend like the Boy-Who-Lived, or even one of the hero's companions, with their strange and powerful gifts. He wasn't a Healer, able to ease the hurts of the world. He wasn't even old enough to join the Army, to be one of the chosen few who stood in defense of their great civilization.

He was just a sixth-year Hufflepuff, a boy who had never really been good at much except making people laugh. A boy who, true to the nature of those in his House, had never been particularly brave or smart or ambitious, just hard-working and loyal. A boy who had once hated violence and thought that if everyone in the world could just understand one another, that…

' _No.'_ Stebbins shook his head. The world had quite gone out of its way to show him how naïve he'd been by destroying everything he'd loved and cared about in a night of blood and fire. _'There can be no peace. Not so long as murderers are free to walk around with impunity, with no one to hold them accountable. No one willing to take a stand against them. No one willing to bring them to justice.'_

The International Confederation of Wizards hadn't, after all. They'd hedged and stalled and actively helped the perpetrators escape justice, denying the wizards and witches of Britain any closure for the events of the Quidditch World Cup massacre, when everyone knew the Bulgarians had been involved in one way or another.

Stebbins had wondered why – until he'd come to Durmstrang for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, with the first thing the school had shoved in their faces being the might of the Host of Durmstrang. Truly, it had chilled his blood to see them all assembled – thousands of Dark Wizards-in-training, led by ruthless Commanders who had attained their ranks by crushing those weaker than themselves, all of them standing at attention in brilliant greens and reds and gold.

And so he'd finally understood the truth.

The truth that might made right. The truth that the world was a cruel and corrupt place, where the ICW could do nothing, because its constituent nations had either been corrupted by the influence of the Dark – something made plain by the presence of schools which turned out armies of Dark Wizards large enough to conquer any magical nation, to sweep the defenses of any Ministry before it – or were afraid of those which had been, and so bent their knee to their oppressors.

Everywhere in the world, this was true.

Everywhere but Britain, which had alone remained free of the taint of the Dark.

Britain, which had thwarted the ambitions of Grindelwald. Britain, which had stood against You-Know-Who and his armies for over a decade, when the nations of Europe had all but caved to a single Dark Lord in less than half that time. Britain, which refused to teach the Dark Arts, and whose Ministry had for hundreds of years stood alone in keeping Curses like the Imperius, the Cruciatus, and Avada Kedavra Unforgivable – as they should be, for they were evil spells only worthy of being used by evil men.

And so, unlike some of his peers, Stebbins had not been cowed into submission by the reminder of how vast Durmstrang's forces were, or how, in coming _here_ for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, he had entered into the very heart of darkness.

Certainly, the presence of so much evil in one place frightened him, given that every one of the students here were probably born killers, especially those who styled themselves Commanders, or the ones they had chosen as their Lieutenants. But Stebbins knew that in the very heart of their power, these practitioners of darkness would not see a threat – which meant that here and now, there was a chance for those with the courage of their convictions to strike a blow at their enemies, albeit at great personal cost.

' _In choosing to do this, I – and those with me – are sealing our fates,'_ Nathaniel knew only too well, as he watched his target – Viktor Krum – make his way to the Goblet of Fire and deposit a slip of paper, no doubt in a bid to be named Champion of Durmstrang. _'He's a fully trained Dark Wizard, skilled with how many curses and forbidden techniques, and one of this place's Lieutenants besides. Against him, some of us will probably die, but then, there are around 30 of us for a reason. He can't kill us all before one of us gets him.'_

Even if they didn't die at Krum's hands, Stebbins knew full well that one of the man's compatriots would likely strike them down for daring to lift a hand one of the rulers of this stronghold of evil, but to him – and those with him – that didn't matter.

What mattered was that the man who was the symbol of their nation's suffering was struck down at last, no matter the personal cost; that they showed that no villain could hide from justice, no matter how powerful he was, no matter how determined the rest of the world was to protect him; that in acting, they showed that the practitioners of the Dark were not invulnerable – and that even if the rest of the world combined against them, the brave men and women of Britain would not go quiet into the night.

' _And that if they think we will, we will make them bleed and die for every inch of ground.'_

 _Them_ , because Krum was not alone.

While they waited, a second individual had entered the Great Hall: this one, a beautiful blonde from Beauxbatons whose inhuman allure had almost made him reveal himself, save that the rage and disgust boiling in his breast was more powerful than any desire she could possibly evoke.

Rage – because he knew what she was, as he had felt the draw of her kindred before at the Quidditch World Cup, when _Bulgaria_ had brought _Veela_ to the final match, reveling in the foolishness of the many men who had taken leave of their senses – with a few even vaulting over the railings of the stadium to crash onto the field or floor below.

Disgust – because of the fact that under other circumstances, he might have found this Dark Creature attractive. This beast who laughingly stole away the will and reason of men, turning them into unthinking slaves who would die – or kill – for something as simple as a smile.

' _And the slag is here with Krum, thinking she's worthy of submitting her name to the Goblet?'_

What right did she have to think she'd worthy of being a Champion, when she was just a creature of the dark – not even a proper witch? He supposed the Continent might tolerate their ilk and the inevitable half-breeds that resulted from that, but that was just one more example of how rest of the world had fallen into corruption, accepting such things as natural.

' _I won't allow it. Won't allow them to make a mockery of everything we stand for – everything Britain stands for – everything the_ Tournament _stands for. Not when my best mate Cedric was killed by people like her. Monsters pretending to be human.'_

Unseen by anyone else, Stebbins' lips tightened as he considered the situation.

On one hand, the presence of a second person complicated matters, given it was unlikely for such an individual to just stand by while they attacked Krum – and even if they did, the other would be able to describe what happened in detail. On the other, that only mattered if they didn't intend on eliminating the second individual as well…

' _If it were anyone else, maybe someone from Hogwarts, we might have to call off this operation, and that would be a bloody shame.'_

After all, tonight, when there was no curfew, no patrols around the Great Hall, and everyone – even the Dark Wizards – were in high spirits from the Feast of Welcome, was the only real opportunity they had to ambush Krum, without anyone else interfering.

' _Luckily, the person who appeared isn't a hindrance to our plan, but a target of opportunity…'_

Perhaps they could even arrange it so it seemed like the two had gotten into a heated disagreement, a dispute turned lethal, serving to turn Beauxbatons against Durmstrang and win the people of Hogwarts an ally in this inhospitable place. Granted, that was unlikely to work, but there was no harm in hoping for the best as they made ready to do their duty.

For duty they considered it: duty to those who had fallen, and duty to those who remained, duty without hope of reward or recognition, following the example of the Boy-Who-Lived and his Stone Cutters. Everyone at Hogwarts knew the stories about the group of young heroes, champions of the people who were willing to risk their lives in battle for the sake of what was right, whether against a troll, a Dark Wizard or an army of Acromantulae.

That was what set them apart: their willingness to act, despite whatever the cost might be, to do _anything_ it took to prevent the triumph of evil.

' _They've done their share to keep us safe…now it's our turn. My turn.'_

His turn to be a champion of justice, to put his life on the line for a cause he believed in. Whether he lived this day or no, Krum would not, and that was what mattered to Nathaniel Stebbins, for as that Dark Witch had said in her speech, there was glory even in passing, so long one had done his part.

His part was to choose the moment that would give them the best chance, and then signal his compatriots to begin the assault, and so he waited, watching as Krum and Delacour finished their business near the Goblet and turned to go, caught up in conversation with one another. With a smirk on his lips, Stebbins' wand flashed up and forward, and with a silent cry of _Verdimillious,_ an orb of brilliant green shot forth from its tip towards the pair, where, as expected, it was blocked by a silent Shield Charm and—

 _Fhump-Whoosh!_

— _exploded_ into verdant sparks in a blinding flash of light, with the vicious _crack-crack-cracks_ and crimson jets erupting from thin air signaling the beginning of the end.

* * *

Viktor Krum, Lieutenant of the Banner of Wolves, had a slight smile on his face as he walked down the corridor to the Great Hall to submit his name to the Goblet of Fire. Thus far, the day had proceeded without any major incident, which was a pleasant surprise indeed, given the number of visitors that had come to the isle, over a thousand in total, who were unaware of, and unused to, Durmstrang's procedures and customs.

With so many outsiders at the school, coupled with Durmstrang's not entirely deserved reputation for being a bastion of the Dark Arts, he had expected…well, he didn't know what he had expected, save that it was more than the grumbling he heard about the cold and the oddity of not having servitors about – more or less the very same one heard every year from fresh recruits. In time, they would adapt and stronger for it, but that wasn't the reason he was out of the Tower alone.

The reason for _that_ was rather more personal, given that there were also a great many fangirls among the new visitors, mostly from the Beauxbatons girls who had chosen to join the Banner of Wolves. They had wasted no time at all after the Feast in trying to get some time alone with him, thinking perhaps to seduce him or win him as a trophy, only to find him quite uninterested.

' _They don't care vho I am or vat I vant. Vouldn't care even if they did. They just vant a cheap thrill, or to be able to brag about sleeping vith a Quidditch star, not something…more.'_

Such thoughtless, vapid fawning disgusted him, as that sort of hollowness reminded him of the newcomers to Durmstrang who thought that wearing the symbol of Grindelwald on their books and clothes made themselves look impressive, heedless of the suffering that criminal had caused or the memories such a thing evoked.

And while outwardly, he was the perfect Lieutenant, devoted to his duty and his Banner, he could admit to himself that there had been a small part of him – a very small part only – who had taken great pleasure in showing those students the error of their ways. There were certain perks to being in charge of Banner discipline, after all, which might or might not have included sentencing foolish individuals to latrine duty – well, sanitary duties – for an entire term, without the benefit of magic.

To be an effective member of the Banner of Wolves, one had to learn to work _with_ one's peers, instead of trying to set oneself above them, because it was in _unity_ that there was strength, in learning the strengths of one's peers and how to maximize them, instead of simply seeking individual glory.

That was the very reason why he didn't play Quidditch at Durmstrang, at least not as a Seeker, given that the disparity in skill and experience between a professional and a hobbyist would have made a mockery of his peers' efforts – and those of his competitors. There was no honor to be had in such a role, so instead he served as a coach for the Banner of Wolves, helping his comrades refine their strategies and bring out their full potential on the field.

Overall, he rather thought it made him a better player, since it helped him to understand the role and needs of each position, and how each of them worked together to create a winning combination, as opposed to what the result would have been if he'd taken the field himself and just crushed those before him: a string of meaningless victories that might feel good in the moment, but in the light of day, would ring hollow and empty.

Which made for a good metaphor for his relationship preferences, quite frankly.

A fling with a fangirl might indeed stroke his ego, on top of being pleasurable besides, but in the end, such a thing would lack substance, and when it ended, as it inevitably would, there would be nothing he gained from it. No hope of friendship, no real affection, no genuine connection with another human being, just a moment of empty physicality, nothing more.

Krum didn't want something like that – couldn't understand why someone _would_ want something like that. That was why people like vapid, empty-headed fangirls (and the occasional fanboy) disgusted him, because that was _all_ they wanted. Beauxbatons in particular seemed to be full of them, with almost every person he'd encountered from the school being vain, shrill, and concerned about the surface of things, not the substance, seeking chance encounters to boost their reputation among their peers, nothing more.

…the two notable exceptions from this were Beauxbatons' "Etoile", Fleur Delacour – a part-Veela that he was sure received more than her share of attention, and their rather frightening Potions Champion, the rapier-using Alchemist named Rachelle Lestrange, who he was certain would stand against the world itself, if it gave her cause.

Sadly, they had both Chosen to join the Banner of Ravens, and with the way the Banner system worked, he would not have many chances to interact with either of them.

' _That is, unless I become a Champion myself.'_

Viktor knew that among the students of Durmstrang, he was considered the favorite to be chosen as Champion, with a few preferring Serpent Lieutenant Morgenstern instead, though he also knew that their opinions didn't really mean much, given that the Goblet was the sole – impartial – judge of worthiness, and if he didn't submit his name for consideration, he wouldn't be chosen.

There had been a small part of him that would have preferred to sit out the Tri-Wizard Tournament, to allow others a chance at the glory he already had as a Quidditch star, but the larger part – the fiercely competitive streak that made him such a good athlete – trembled with excitement at the thought of the challenges that were sure to await.

And so he had taken his leave of Wolf Tower and proceeded to the Great Hall alone, both to enjoy the solitude of night-time at Durmstrang, and to place his name into the Goblet. It had been a pleasant surprise to find that there were few people out and about, despite the lack of curfew, but then, he supposed that the promise of menial labor on top of one's normal duty rotation, if one submitted one's name but was not chosen, was enough to keep most casual competitors away.

Encountering Miss Delacour had been an unexpected pleasure, with the attractive part-Veela mentioning that she intended to submit her name for consideration as well. Viktor, as an officer and a gentleman, had wished her the best of luck and had offered to escort her back to Raven's Keep, given that she was likely still unfamiliar with the layout of Durmstrang.

The blonde had eyed him gingerly, but had nodded after a moment, with the duo just beginning to head off, when everything had gone wrong, with a brilliant green projectile shooting towards him from the shadows.

' _Ambush!'_

If he were alone, Krum would have just dodged the attack, and retaliated with some area denial spell, since whoever it was had surely moved after the surprise attack, but…he wasn't. There was someone next to him, and he couldn't be sure which one of them was the target.

"Get down!" he hissed, knocking Fleur to the ground – and presumably out of the line of fire – even as he interposed a Shield Charm between himself and the projectile, closing his eyes at the moment of impact.

…had he been fighting a single ambusher – and he had no reason to suspect otherwise –this would have been an effective tactic, allowing him to avoid being blinded by the inevitable explosion of the _Verdimillious_ , but he wasn't.

Instead, his moment of inattention was the opportunity his assailants had been waiting for, as fifteen jets of crimson light erupted from points scattered around the room and slammed into his chest, with the Wolf Lieutenant's body convulsing as they struck him, one after another, and his wand – followed by his too-still form – fell to the ground unceremoniously.

"Merde," Fleur whispered, seeing the sudden brutality of the attack. She'd never expected anything like this, and for a moment, she wished that Rachelle – the Champion of Beauxbatons – was there in her place, as _she_ would know what to do. Still, it wasn't as if she was helpless, and she knew the theory of how to deal with multiple, hidden attackers, especially since they'd revealed their positions with their first volley. Her wand snapped up and forward, and a single, hissed spell issued from her lips: _**"Confringo!"**_

 _BOOM!_

A shiver of dark pleasure raced down her spine as her counterattack struck home in a massive explosion, with several voices crying out in agony – before they were swiftly silenced, with their broken – no longer disillusioned – bodies crashing against the wall with a sickening _thud_.

" _ **Confringo!"**_ she cast again, rolling out of the way of a set of purple and blue bolts that ripped deep gouges into the floor where she'd lain not seconds before, with her efforts rewarded with another explosion, with three more bodies hitting the ground, with a murder of conjured crows shooting from her wand to rip at their flesh and eyes.

" _ **Con—"**_

But before she could cast a third time, a blinding, jagged jet of white lightning erupted from the air immediately in front of her, as pain ripped through her body as if molten metal was being poured through her nerves, all control stolen from her as she thrashed, convulsed, _seized_ , her wand flying from her grasp into the hands of her assailant – a man all in crimson.

" _Inhuman bitch,_ " the figure snarled, as the lightning faded, leaving her blinded and deaf and limp, laying on the ground unaware of her surroundings. "You killed…you killed…" Stebbins shook his head with disgust, fighting off the sense of hatred welling up inside of him at what this…beast had done to his comrades. It would be so simple to just use the Killing Curse on her, to end her life now. And if he used her wand, no one would ever know… _'But I won't stoop to that level. That's just what you and your kind want – to corrupt good, honest wizards, whether with lust or hate. No. My friends will decide what to do with you, Veela.'_ So resolved, he levelled his wand at the blonde's chest and barked out his final spell: " _ **Stupefy.**_ "

A jet of crimson light shot forth from the wand, with Delacour's body jerking as it struck her, before going utterly still.

* * *

As if the defeat of Fleur Delacour were a signal, the others – those that had survived Delacour's unexpected onslaught – appeared from thin air in a circle around their fallen adversaries, with one casting a quick locking charm on the doors of the Great Hall.

"It is finished," the Hufflepuff declared, glaring down at the two on the floor – the Veela and the Dark Wizard that had cost him even _more_ of his friends. "At least the easy part."

"…the easy part, Stebbins?" one of his allies, Anthony Rickett – who had one been a Beater on the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team, looking around at the sheer level of destruction caused by such a short altercation. "The bitch bloody _killed_ some of us with her explosions. Cadwallader, Munslow, Summers…even old Preece, they're all dead!"

"Should have expected a Dark Creature to be bloody-minded like that," another muttered, shaking his head. "And we were just trying to stun her. At least, we were at first. We ought to just—to just—"

"Easy there, Jimmy," yet a third spoke up, his voice firm with authority. "If we let ourselves get distracted, they won't be the only ones dead. As quiet as Durmstrang has been, you know _damn_ well someone must have heard those blasts – and even if they didn't, you think those Dark Wankers won't investigate if one of their own goes missing? _Think_ , man."

"Right. Sorry, Malcom," Jimmy Peakes said, somewhat chastened. "So what are we going to do?"

"We vanish the bodies of the dead, using our enemies' wands," Stebbins declared. "And then we take these two and dump them in the lake. That way, it's not obvious what happened, or who was involved. Make it look like they got into a fight and killed each other."

"Shouldn't we strip 'em naked, Stebins?" Anthony inquired, licking his lips as his gaze fixed upon the unconscious figure of Fleur Delacour. "You know…so they die quicker from exposure, and all that."

"…I don't want to ask this, Rickett, but you're not thinking about taking her, or something, are you?" Stebbins' barked, with his erstwhile compatriot flinching at the tone he used.

"She's a Veela whore, Stebbins!" Rickett snapped back. "You know she's asking for it. Every single one of her kind is."

"I said this already, Rickett – we're not stooping to their level," Stebbins growled. "We're only doing what is necessary, not taking liberties because we feel like it. We're not _them."_

"…fine, I guess you have a point, Stebbins," Rickett allowed, though his eyes didn't leave Fleur's rising and falling chest. "It just seems a damn waste, you know – just killing them, without even getting any satisfaction out of it."

"Be that as it may, Rickett, we don't have the time! None of us ever expected that we'd get out of this unscathed anyway, even if we thought it would be Krum that was the bigger threat, so don't give me that load of shite," Stebbins growled. "Let's vanish our dead and finish what we set out to do before someone finds us. I don't know about you, but I do _not_ want to be here when more Dark Wizards show up, or any more of those Beauxbatons slags, for that matter."

"Bah. You saw how easily Krum went down—"

"—he wasn't expecting us. We had the element of surprise, Rickett. You can be damned sure we don't with the others, and if it's one of those Merlin be damned Commanders…."

"…true. Let's go then," Rickett noted with a shudder, conjuring ropes to bind Krum's motionless body with a flick of his wand, before levitating the Quidditch star into the air. "If it were to be done, 'twere well done quickly."

The group had set about their appointed tasks, with Stebbins and Peakes vanishing the bodies of their deceased comrades, several trying to repair the damage to the Hall as best they could, some casting disillusionment charms on their victims so they'd be able to sneak them outside easily enough, and the rest disillusioning themselves and standing guard in case anyone unlocked the doors to the Great Hall.

None of them were entirely new to combat. They had all received some training alongside the army, knowing what to look out for, how to hold a position, what was possible and not possible for a wand-using wizard…

…which is why none of them were prepared when a golden-eyed figure wreathed in shadows just _phased_ through the enormous wooden doors as if they didn't exist, and without a single word, ripped into them with bolts of sickly golden light.

It was as if he could see them, as if he knew exactly where they were, as if their every attempt at concealment was futile, as his attacks struck home, one after another, with their return fire batted aside contemptuously, or simply shrugged off as utterly ineffectual.

"Stebbins!" the leader of the guard detail called out as a wave of utter panic filled him, and every happy thought – every hope he'd had of living through the night – fled from his mind as his blood ran cold. "He—!"

What they were seeing was impossible.

One moment, the shadowed one was across the room, having just passed through the door. In the next, he was right in front of them, with threads of darkness exploding from what seemed like skeletal palms, ripping through any and all defenses the defenders tried to raise, drinking, as light drained from their mouths to his hands, in something like the Dementor's kiss.

' _Oh Merlin…he's…their magic…he's…drinking it…'_

Was this…a Dementor? But if so…why? Why was it here?

Their question would never be answered, as one after another, the defenders fell, with their every attempt to resist rendered futile in the face of a superior power, their inferior illusions being washed away by the sheer might of the enemy before them.

" _ **Stupefy!"**_

" _ **Reducto!"**_

" _ **Confringo!"**_

So the defenders called out, invoking the strongest spells they knew in an attempt to put down this…terrifying creature, this being of utter evil, but these were countered, blocked, evaded as the enemy just _blinked_ in and out of existence, with each who tried to organize the others and restore any sense of unit cohesion marking himself as the next target to be picked up, used as a human shield, and drained of vitality, each of them falling in time like wheat before a scythe.

And then, only one was left – Nathaniel Stebbins, who was shaking in his boots as he tried to back away, his wand stretched protectively before him at the being bent on his destruction – an invincible creature of darkness who could not be bargained with, which felt no fear, did not tire, and could not even be hurt.

"E…exp…expecto…." Stebbins whispered as the shadowy came closer and the chill intensified. This was it, he knew. He was going to die, just like the rest of those he had convinced to join him on this attempt to enact justice. "Expecto…"

Despite his best efforts, his wand slipped from his fingers as the figure reached out to touch him, and ice cold fingers lifted his face so that he was looking into the specter's pitiless golden eyes.

"I don't…I don't want to die…" Stebbins begged, his bowels losing control in the face of the implacable, inescapable figure of death. His mind screamed for him to run, though his body would not move, paralyzed as it was in the face of a supreme predator. "Please…please, I…"

" _FOOLISH LITTLE HUFFLEPUFF_ ," the other spoke for the first time, in a voice every bit as horrifying as the rest of his form, a voice like a thousand fingernails scraping down the surface of the universe's largest chalkboard. " _YOU AREN'T WORTH KILLING_."

With those words, reality fell away, with the cold solidity of Durmstrang vanishing, to be replaced with…

' _No…'_

Fire. Howling. Screams of pain.

' _No.'_

…the disaster that had happened the night of the Quidditch World Cup, with Stebbins powerless to do anything as his parents were torn apart before his eyes by ravenous wolves, as his friends were crushed and burned and bitten, as all around him, people died.

' _Please…no…mercy…plea…se…'_

But there was no mercy to be found, no mercy to be had, as the events played themselves out, looping over and over and over, with no way to stop it. Trapped in his worst memories, Stebbins _screamed,_ but no one heard him.

No one could hear him – and no one would, ever again, as the memories of that night filled his mind, erasing all else until that world of death was everything he knew, or would ever know – with him forgetting who he was, what he was, or even how to breathe at all.

* * *

"It seems they misjudged their capacity," George Weasley said pitilessly, a thin smirk on his lips as the insensate form of Nathaniel Stebbins crumpled to the ground before him.

Without another word, he made his way to the Goblet of Fire, where the Stone Cutter deposited his name for consideration as Champion. And with the purpose for which he'd come to the Great Hall in the first place complete, the youth turned invisible once more, just in time for the doors to unlock and open, to see the Wolf Commander and several of her year-captains pausing in disbelief at the scene of devastation before them.

Thinking that they likely wouldn't understand his motives for being here, the youth made his exit, leaving no one the wiser that he'd ever been there to begin with.


	28. Declaration

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 28.** _Declaration_

The morning after the Feast of Welcome and the events of the night before, a profound uneasiness hung in the air as members of all three Banners filed into a Great Hall bereft of chairs or tables or food, with the Goblet of Fire itself missing, escorted by grim-eyed year-captains and their attendant squads kitted out in full combat gear. These worthies, many of which had been quite friendly the night before as they talked about the history of Durmstrang, and briefed their new comrades on how things were done at the castle, or showed people about the facilities of their respective Banner, were silent and humorless now as they carried out their duties, something that Fred Weasley found incredibly disconcerting.

' _It's like they're not wizards at all, but Inferi, brought back to life for some dark and violent purpose…'_

He could _feel_ them looking at him – and those who had come with him from Hogwarts, their eyes sweeping the room for any sign of hostile intent as they took up positions about the perimeter of the room, with several moving to effectively seal the entrances and exits once everyone else had entered, something that particularly unnerved Fred, since he'd misplaced his wand that morning and so would be utterly defenseless if something were to happen.

…say, if every one of those Dark Wizards in training were to open fire on the crowd simultaneously, using horrendous curses to cut down those who had been foolish enough to trust in the veneer of civility they'd worn the night before.

' _No.'_ As bad as the situation seemed in his imagination, surely even those of Durmstrang wouldn't dare provoke the ire of the International Confederation of Wizards by committing such an atrocity. _'But then, the ICW hasn't exactly ever been on our side, even while Dumbledore was Supreme Mugwump…'_

It was well known that during the Wizarding War, when You-Know-Who had staged his decade-long insurrection and savaged the population of Magical Britain, the ICW had refused to offer any support, moral or military, claiming that their mandate as an entity precluded them from any interference in domestic incidents of civil unrest.

Not that Britain had asked for aid to begin with, as the Ministry would have considered that a mark of shame, since in their eyes, the nation whose Albus Dumbledore had vanquished Grindelwald when all others had failed, should be able to handle what amounted to a political dispute turned insurrection with ease. This had proved not to be the case, with the Ministry – and Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix – forced onto the defensive in over a decade of prolonged conflict – a decade during which the ICW said – and did – nothing.

To them, one government was much the same as another, after all, as long as the nation continued to hold to its treaty obligations and responsibilities under international law. Hence when the conflict came to an end, with British wizards quite naturally breaking out in celebration that Voldemort had finally been defeated, the ICW, instead of congratulating Britain for defeating the insurrection, condemned it for its "large-scale breaches of the International Statute of Secrecy," reminding the British Ministry of its obligations under Clause 73.

Echoing the popular sentiment at the time, Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold had refused to admit to any wrongdoing on the part of her country, asserting that the demands of the Statute – and international law in general – were secondary to Britain's "inalienable right to party."

Given that the Statute of Secrecy was one of the great international treaties that the Wizarding Community was more or less built upon, with even those which weren't signatories to it honoring its provisions to some degree, the fact that Britain – the nation whose representatives had been instrumental in formulating the Statute's provisions, and had been one of the first signatories to the Statute – had flat out refused to be bound by what was expected from the ICW's other member nations, had left relations somewhat frosty between them.

Things had only deteriorated after the death of Albus Dumbledore, a figure who had been respected through most of the world for his heroism in confronting Grindelwald in his capacity as a private citizen, after Hector Fawley, British Minister of Magic at the time, had refused to commit any forces to the conflict brewing on the Continent, as he'd seen Grindelwald as no threat to British interests, with Leonard Spencer-Moon, his more proactive successor, left in no position to militarily intervene, as Grindelwald's forces had grown beyond the capacity of any one nation to face.

(Spencer-Moon's election had come after the populace had seen how Fawley's failure to intervene – a decision that had been popular among the British population at the time – had resulted in both the destruction of the European markets they depended on both for direct trade and to serve as intermediaries with Eastern interests.)

Babajide Akingbade, Dumbledore's successor as Supreme Mugwump, had proven himself to be rather less tolerant of British demands and what he perceived as unwarranted European harassment of other magical nations in the two years he had been in office.

These ranged from more minor offenses such as Adrian Tutley's insistence that the Uagadou School of Magic be censured for its "recklessness" and "unprovoked acts of aggression" against the international community, in response to a student team staging a synchronized demonstration of Animagus transformations (and in the process, nearly causing a riot among older and more experienced practitioners such as Tutley), to the very egregious, such as Britain's demands for Bulgarian reparations in the wake of the 1994 Quidditch World Cup Massacre, with an additional demand that the Confederation convene an International Criminal Tribunal to prosecute the Bulgarian Minister (and the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team) for their role in planning, facilitating, and instigating the massacre – violating the sovereignty of Magical Britain through an act of aggression and attempting to commit wholesale genocide against the British people.

Granted, Supreme Mugwump Akingbade could understand how the British Ministry – and its populace – might be rather upset in the wake of such an incident, given that the tragedy they had suffered _was_ the single greatest massacre in the history of the Wizarding World. However, as the head of the Confederation, it was his task to see that it was _justice_ that was done, which meant that due process needed to be followed, with a full investigation into the events of that night.

As Akingbade has suspected it might, the ICW investigation's preliminary findings – which had been announced on Halloween – suggested that the Bulgarian government had played no role in the slaughter – and that it was likely that some third party was at work, given that some of the individuals who had been listed as attending the Cup had not done so – and in fact, had no memory of buying a ticket to begin with, had only worsened matters.

Instead of accepting the new evidence that Bulgaria might not be at fault, however, the British Representative, Albert Runcorn, had simply restated the Ministry's demands, adding that they were not subject to negotiation, and that Britain would not allow bureaucratic machinations to deny – or delay – the course of justice.

That if the ICW failed to uphold its responsibilities to its member nations, then Britain would act unilaterally, doing what was necessary to ensure that it would never again be victimized by minor powers who saw their refusal to teach the Dark Arts as a sign of weakness, rather than principle.

The Supreme Mugwump had warned Representative Runcorn that his demands had no place before the community of nations, and that if Britain insisted in continuing on his course of action, it would be branded as a rogue nation, with no place in the ICW, given its continued refusals to the process of law or its obligations under to the treaties it had helped draft – and had been the first to sign – in the first place.

"If that is what it comes to, then so be it," Albert Runcorn had declared, in response to the Supreme Mugwump – and to the gathered representatives of the wizarding nations of the world. "If the ICW – a confederation we willingly entered into hundreds of years ago – now refuses to honor its responsibilities and will instead stand in the way of justice, then Magical Britain has no choice but to leave it. How fitting, then, that this most sacred day of Halloween will serve to commemorate not only our freedom from the tyranny of fear – from the tyranny of Lord Voldemort – but from the bureaucracy of the International Confederation of Wizards. In ages distant, when you and yours have fallen, history will remember this as the day the British people took back their dignity, the day when we took back our freedom, the day we took back our rights and launched a bold new era of prosperity and justice for all!"

Runcorn's declaration had swept the nation by storm, with the Halloween edition of the _Daily Prophet –_ the last thing most people at Hogwarts had read before coming to Durmstrang – covering nothing but this declaration and the implications of a British withdrawal from the International Confederation of Wizards, with Minister of Magic Lucius Malfoy, Ladon Greengrass, Head of the Department of War, and British Youth Representative Harry Potter coming out in support of the people of Britain and the cause of justice.

The notion that in leaving the tyranny of the ICW and taking matters into its own hands, Britain would regain the greatness it once possessed, had stirred the hearts of a frightened, unsettled people, who saw such daring and decisiveness on the part of their Minister as something to be admired. After all, what use did the British have for a Confederation which had never understood the unique needs and circumstances of the British people, and which had never appreciated the long years of service British wizards and witches had burdened themselves with over the centuries in spreading the knowledge of wandlore around the world, founding communities, and helping to bring peace to the Continent.

' _And then we were forced to come here, to Durmstrang, where we are fettered by the tyranny of a school where all are made to learn the Dark Arts – which the ICW somehow finds perfectly acceptable,'_ Fred mused, glancing around uneasily, wishing he was still clad in the protective dragonhide robes that marked him as a Stone Cutter, not the crimson robes of the Banner of Wolves. _'Surrounded by Dark Wizards, forced to bow to their rules.'_

To be roused from slumber and ordered to assemble in the Great Hall effectively at wandpoint, alongside the students of Beauxbatons and some of the students of Durmstrang – save the year-captains and squads which wielded the wands, and the Commanders and their Lieutenants, who were rather conspicuously absent.

…along with about a fourth of the upper-year Hufflepuffs, the two young women who had led the Beauxbatons delegation, Harry, Daphne, and…Matou.

'… _did something happen?'_ Fred wondered, his mind racing as he considered why all of these might not be present in the Hall. It would be one thing for the Commanders and Lieutenants of each Banner to be absent, along with the Potions Champions, as that might indicate some kind of official business, but for the Hufflepuffs to be missing as well… _'Was it Krum? Did he give in to his base impulses and attack some of us last night, only for Matou to stop him?'_

His questions would soon be answered, as the massive doors to the Great Hall swung open, with Headmaster Igor Karkaroff stepping through them, holding the Goblet of Fire, the blue-white illumination of which made him look rather skeletal. He was flanked by two rather dangerous looking wizards dressed in robes of black and silver (members of the Norwegian Ministry's Disciplinary Commission), with Filius Flitwick and Madame Maxine trailing him as the procession made its way to a raised platform on the far end of the Hall.

"Last night, following the Feast of Welcome, an _incident_ occurred within this very Hall, an incident born of hate and fear, an incident which nearly brought an end to this attempt to revive the Tri-Wizard Tournament before it had even properly begun!" the Headmaster stated, his dark eyes taking in the sight of the uneasy students assembled in the Hall, all of whom were looking at each other suspiciously, as if wondering who was responsible for it. "In an abuse of the hospitality and friendship we extended, last night, individuals from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were set upon after attempting to put their names into the Goblet of Fire, ambushed by students of Hogwarts!"

Karkaroff's words made Fred's blood run cold, as the suspicious stares of those of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang turned upon him, with the boy swallowing at the thought of how many of _them_ there were, and how if they all attacked at once…no spell in the world would save him from their wrath.

"That is – two students were ambushed by a group of over thirty. Whatever their reasons may have been, the result is clear: a group of bloodthirsty cowards betrayed the ancient obligations and duties of hospitality, disgracing themselves, their school, and their nation in the process," Karkaroff continued, his words harsh and angry. His eyes roved over the crowd, finding the eyes of two red-haired boys he recognized as elites among the British youth. "Fortunately, they were foiled from achieving their aims, though they very nearly succeeded in claiming the lives of Viktor Krum, Lieutenant of the Banner of Wolves, and Fleur Delacour of the Banner of Ravens, a young woman, who as I understand it, was a person of some importance at Beauxbatons."

Fred froze as what had been merely suspicious stares vanished, only to be replaced with hard and hostile ones. If looks could kill, he thought, he would be dead quite a few times over, riddled with spells and curses in numbers beyond comprehension.

"As said, however, they were foiled in their aims, with those who survived the intervention currently in the custody of the Norwegian Disciplinary Commission," the Headmaster continued, his expression wintry. "Their investigation has revealed that these individuals were working on their own, and that their actions were not in any way sanctioned by Hogwarts. Or indeed, by the British Ministry, to whose custody we will be releasing our prisoners for trial."

The British Ministry had asserted its jurisdiction in this case when it learned of what had transpired, given that the accused were _British_ citizens. Initially, the Ministry of Norway had denied the British request, pointing out that Norway had no obligation to surrender their prisoners – especially since, with Britain's declaration of independence from the ICW, it was questionable whether or not it could claim the benefits of the extradition treaties negotiated under the ICW's aegis.

Of course, Britain had then threatened to withdraw its students from the Tri-Wizard Tournament entirely, citing their unease with subjecting their students to the mercy of some other nation's justice system, and, wanting to avoid a massive loss of face, Norway had relented.

"Whatever the outcome of their trial, they will be considered _persona non grata_ among the nations of the Nordic Pact, and I am recommending their expulsion from Hogwarts," Karkaroff said grimly, shaking his head. "After all, they came to this place under false pretenses, betraying the purpose of friendship for which we have assembled, in their bid to kill off two innocents without cause or provocation." The wiry man scowled, his attention falling firmly on the students before him. "Perhaps they had their reasons for doing as they did. Perhaps, as I understand it, they were angry about what happened to their country – to their loved ones – to their families. Yet that is no excuse for their actions – for an act of base treachery and callous disregard of human life on par with that which marks the cruelest and most despicable wizards of our time."

What little sound there had been in the Hall faded away, with no one speaking, moving, or even breathing at the insinuation – no, the outright accusation – that those who had acted were no better than individuals like Grindelwald or Voldemort.

"In any case, let us simply consider it fortunate that these malcontents were stopped from achieving their aims," the Headmaster intoned after a few moments, shaking his head wearily. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the Goblet of Fire into the air. "But let us turn to other matters – such as the reason we have gathered in these frozen lands."

The wooden chalice seemed to glow brighter than ever before as he raised it high, with the blue-white brilliance of the flames dancing around and within it almost blinding.

"It is time…to choose the ones who shall represent us in the Tournament to come, who shall stand against trials and tribulations, and perhaps – perhaps! – prove themselves as one of the best wizards of this generation!"

So Karkaroff declared, and at his words, the flames inside the Goblet _changed_ from azure blue to the crimson hue of blood, with sparks flying forth.

"The first Champion…" he spoke solemnly. "The one who shall represent the Durmstrang Institute in the Tournament, shall be…"

On cue, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttering forth from it and slowly falling through the air until he caught it in his free hand, as the whole room gasped.

"Viktor Krum," the Headmaster said quietly. "You are all aware of the reason he is not here with us at present, but I trust you will offer him your trust and support when he returns?"

It was perhaps phrased as a question, but it was anything but – especially when his eyes met those of a shocked and angry Hogwarts delegation. After all, the reason he away from Durmstrang to begin with, lying in a bed in the Lady Eir Medical Center in critical condition from the many, many Stunning Spells he had received to the chest, was because of the craven actions of some of _their_ number.

He let the question hang for a moment, before the flames of the Goblet _changed_ once more, with another tongue of fire shooting forth, bearing another name.

"The Champion who will represent the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic," Karkaoff began, pausing as he caught the slip of parchment at the air, only to sigh inwardly at the name he read. "...shall be Fleur Delacour," he read aloud. "Owing to the same turn of events that befell Lieutenant Krum, she cannot be with us at the moment, but I trust you all will offer her your congratulations when she returns?"

There was a positive undercurrent of affirmation from the students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, with a few Hogwarts students nodding, though the rest were curiously silent.

But there was no time to dwell on things, as the Goblet flared a final time, a last tongue of flame delivering a third slip of parchment before the chalice went dark. This one seemed particularly charred and blackened, and it took Karkaroff a long moment to decipher what was written on it, a moment in which every Hogwarts student felt their hearts beat faster.

"Weasley," Karkaroff intoned at last, with two pairs of eyes widening, and a third utterly impassive. Whispers broke out in the hall, as people wondered which one it was, with Fred hoping that it was him – that at last, he could reap the benefits of his training with Tomas and with the army, demonstrating to the world – and to himself – that he was not weak.

That he was strong – strong enough to protect what was left of his family. Strong enough not to simply be left behind by everyone else. But…

" _George_ Weasley."

…it was not to be, as it was not he, but his twin who had been selected.

' _Why?'_ Fred thought, his body numb with shock. _'Why him? Why not me?'_ His thoughts raced, with nothing at all seeming to make sense. _'I've always been the better duelist between us, even if he was better with stealth. It's always been true. And it should have stayed that way. This past summer, I dueled students from_ Mahoutokoro _and received training from a Peverell, while he simply spent his time flirting with that Kohaku girl, talking and going to different stores. This summer,_ I _was the one who obtained a familiar, while George didn't get anything. Since coming back, I've spent every free moment I had training with the army, and George…'_

George hadn't, and yet his it was he whose uniform now shifted from emerald green with black accents to black with green accents, with the crest of Hogwarts emblazoned in silver against an emerald wand at his breast, marking him as a Champion.

' _Why…?'_

"Come forward, Champion of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and congratulations on your achievement," Karkaroff intoned, and George did so, approaching the platform and ascending the steps, where the dignitaries met him with tentatively approving smiles. He shook their hands one by one, when turned to the students – his former peers – and bowed to them, deeply. "Do you have any words you would like to share with those watching?"

"Simply this: that is an honor and a privilege to be chosen as one of the three Champions of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and that I look forward to see where I stand in relation to my fellow Champions," George was saying, as he looked out upon those he had called countryman, friend or brother with a neutral expression. "Though hearing what happened, I have something else to say to those not chosen: you may not be Champions, but you represent your schools and nations nonetheless through every word and deed, much as I do. So, in the wake of last night's events, I too am angry. But I am angry at my countrymen – at the foolish ones who disgraced themselves through their actions, who were not worthy of even aspiring to the title of Champion. I am angry at those who allowed hate to cloud their eyes, who could not see the likely outcome of their deeds. I am angry at those who would have denied me the chance to test my capacity against two individuals who have been chosen as two of the most talented among you. I am angry, but not with my fellow Champions, my fellow comrades in the struggle come, with who my thoughts and sympathies rest: Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour."

The entire British delegation – and Fred most of all – looked on in shock at George's words, as he effectively had said he didn't care what happened to the people of Britain – that he was more angry that he was nearly denied his chance to face the other Champions than at the fact that some of his countrymen were dead.

' _George,'_ Fred could only wonder, looking at his twin and seeing only an inhuman stranger who rejected him and his beliefs entirely. ' _Why?'_

* * *

When Fleur Delacour came to once more, she found herself lying in a bed in a sterile white room, wearing a hospital gown, looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling, much as when she had first awoken after the attack on her person. And as had been the case then, she wasn't alone.

This time though, those with her weren't officers from Norway's feared Disciplinary Commission, who had come to ask her questions about what had happened during the attack, or to probe her mind for answers, but someone else – someone who was known to her, in fact.

"'Allo, Fleur," the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons said quietly. As she had been when she arrived at Durmstrang, the silver-eyed girl was dressed in an elegant navy dress of satin chased with silver filigree, with her rapier at her hip, as she surveyed the room, taking in every detail of her surroundings – and her comrade's exhausted state. "Comment ça va?"

"Comme ci, comme ça," Fleur replied distantly, shaking her head. Not wanting to seem so helpless in the presence of the Etoile Noire, she tried to sit up, but ended up slumping back down with a grimace, as the sudden motion made her rather dizzy.

"Mm," Rachelle Lestrange murmured, waving her hand as the head of the bed itself slowly began to raise itself – and Fleur – to a sitting position. "Thinking about vat 'appened?"

"Oui," the Etoile of Beauxbatons confirmed with a frown, raising her wand hand and staring at her fingers, as if there was something on them. "I…I…"

"…you killed someone," Rachelle interjected, with Fleur glancing over at her, a query almost – almost – making it to her lips before she ruthlessly quashed it.

"More than one," Fleur whispered, the events of the night before coming to her mind all too easily after a day spent revisiting the scenario time and time again. "More than one…" She swallowed, trying to drive the images away, the screams of pain and agony, but they wouldn't leave. "I…"

"Were zey trying to kill you?" the Potions Champion asked, fingering the rapier at her hip. "Or just Viktor?"

"I…" Fleur began again, but shook her head, as the words wouldn't come in her exhaustion. "How is…?"

"Viktor is alive," Rachelle answered simply. "'e's not well, not after taking so many Stunning Spells, but…'e's alive. Zanks to you, Delacour."

Fleur felt her body sag as her countrywoman let her know this.

"Dieu merci," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She – like most on the Continent – knew full well that the Stunning Spell, although treated by novices as harmless, was no such thing, given that it functioned by using magic to disrupt one's nervous system. As such, too many striking at once, or simply within a short span of time, could very well be fatal. That was why she had acted as she did, attacking with the most powerful spell she knew, because the moment her ambushers had struck, she could see that they had intended to kill. "Dieu merci…" But she shook her head once more. "Mais…"

"Do not vaste your pity on ze others," the Etoile Noire declared, her expression grim and icy-cold, as she recalled something in her past. "Ze only one who should try to kill, are those who are prepared to be killed."

Fleur shivered, at the dangerous expression, knowing that Rachelle's capacity for violence and destruction was exactly why so many at Beauxbatons feared the beautiful waif-like Potions Champion, a capacity that had been rather brutally demonstrated in the incidents leading up to her selection.

"I'm…not like you, Rachelle," the part-Veela said slowly, her blue eyes full of pain as she looked away. "I vunder…I think…could I have done something else? Could I have not…taken their lives?" She shuddered, her eyes closing involuntarily at the thought. "It was…"

"…it was your first time taking a life," Rachelle summed up. "But it felt easy, didn't it?"

"…oui," Fleur admitted, her voice naught but a whisper. "C'est trop facile, Rachelle. Trop facile…"

"It always is in ze moment, Fleur," the Potions Champion told her, her silver eyes softening a bit as she walked over to her comrade. "After all, in ze moment, you didn't think about them, or if vat you vere doing vas right. You vanted to live."

Fleur was silent for a long moment – almost a minute, before she shook her head.

"Je veux revenir à Beauxbâtons…" the part-Veela murmured, her hands dropping to the bed, as she worked on balling up the sheets to distract herself. "I…staying here…I'm not you. If I stay, I might…I might…" She trailed off. "Je veux…"

"C'est impossible," Rachelle responded at once, cutting the other off before she could get started again. " _Tu es_ _la championne_ _de L'Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons!_ By contract… _"_

"I have to compete…" Fleur concluded, glumly. Never in her life had Fleur Delacour believed that she wouldn't be happy to receive such a high honor, but now, in the wake of the attack… "Je ne peux pas revenir. _Merde_."

She looked down, the strength and vitality that normally made her seem so very beautiful to most at Beauxbatons all but vanished in her despair.

"Tu n'es pas seul, mon amie," the Potions Champion said to her, one of her delicate hands reaching out to lift the chin of the other girl, so that piercing blue eyes looked into startling silver, with the part Veela gasping at how sudden the contact was. "I vill be at Durmstrang too. And if someone vishes to hurt you, zey can try to go through me, si tu veux…"

Try – and die in the process – was the implication, given who Rachelle was. It was quite an offer, but…it was one that Fleur wasn't _entirely_ comfortable with.

"I…I don't…" Fleur whispered, feeling a strange tingling from the way the petite Potions Champion was looking at her. "Merci, mais…I don't want any more people to die, Rachelle. Even if zey are my enemies. Even if zey want to hurt me."

The two looked at each other for a long moment, before the Etoile Noire stepped back, her fingers leaving Fleur's chin reluctantly.

"You and I are very different people, Fleur," the Potions Champion mused, bringing her hand back to _Deuillegivre_ as what might have been an almost wistful expression crossed her lips. "But zat is why you are ze Etoile. You are…more merciful." Rachelle sighed. "Un moment, s'il vous plait."

With that, she turned away, ducking around the privacy curtain concealing the door to the room, leaving Fleur nonplussed as the door opened and closed, with Rachelle emerging from behind the curtain once more – until she saw the figure trailing the Beauxbatons Potions Champion – a young boy of Asiatic origin, clad in black robes, with a crest and cauldron indicating her was the Potions Champion of Hogwarts.

"Eh…? _Vous êtes…?_ "

"I am Matou Shinji, Miss Delacour," the boy said with a charming smile, as he bowed deeply to her. "Potions Champion of Hogwarts." He straightened, his slate grey eyes meeting her blue. "And for the duration of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, I have volunteered to be your accompany you while I am at Durmstrang. I imagine that might give any would-be ambushers from Hogwarts pause, since they wouldn't want to strike me down in the process, ne?"

Fleur blinked.

She did not say a word, nod, or even tilt her head questioningly. She simply blinked, somewhat confused by why this little boy – who couldn't be more than perhaps 14 – stood before her, proclaiming that he would essentially be her bodyguard.

…especially since he didn't _look_ like he was affected by her aura, since his expression was determined, and not lost in lust or desire.

"After what happened," Rachelle explained, "ze Headmaster and Madame Maxine issued instructions that ze Tri-Wizard Champions needed extra provisions for sécurité. While at Durmstrang, and outside ze protection of a Banner's keep, Champions must be escorted by a member of that Banner at all times. Matou of Hogwarts volunteered to accompany you, if you did not vant me…"

"Rachelle…" Fleur whispered, taken aback as she looked over the boy the French Potions Champion had brought with her.

Hair so dark it was almost blue in the light. Determined grey eyes. A wiry frame. Features set in a mask of determination – and body language that seemed to radiate a sense of confidence and power.

Perhaps the _'leetle boy'_ wasn't quite as useless at she had thought, though it was possible it was youthful bravado. She had known a few youths at Beauxbatons who would say anything to get her affection or attention, after all, promising her the sun, the moon itself, the treasures of the world itself if she would simply smile for them.

"Why, Champion Matou?" she asked simply, concentrating on raising her allure to the highest level possible to get the truth from him, to make him react if desire was one of his motives. "Why do you wish to accompany me, when you have your own duties? When you don't know anything about me?"

The boy's body seemed to tense at her question, or perhaps at the effect of her aura, though curiously, he looked away from her, his gaze flickering over to Rachelle's slender form for a moment as he took a deep breath and visibly steadied himself, before looking back at _her_.

"Because it's the right thing to do," Matou Shinji declared simply and sincerely. "Because I have no desire to let my comrades embarrass themselves any further, and no desire to see an innocent person caught up in something not of their making."

Because it was the right thing to do.

Not because he was attracted to her, not because he was drawn in by her allure, not because he wanted a favor from her or her school.

He wanted to help her _because it was the right thing to do_?

Shocked, Fleur let her aura of allure recede to its normal levels, with the boy relaxing as she did so, a quizzical smile on his face.

"You didn't have to use your allure to get me to answer you know?" Shinji quipped, glancing once more at Rachelle, who didn't seem to notice. "I would have answered any question you had willingly enough."

"Oh? Any question?" Fleur questioned, a small smile coming to her lips as she thought of something she _did_ want an answer to. "Zen tell me zis, Matou Shinji. How old are you and vich year are you in?"

"Fourteen, Miss Delacour," the boy from the East replied. "And at Hogwarts, I am counted as a Fourth Year."

"A Fourth year…" Fleur echoed, blinking in disbelief. A fourth year…who was a Potions Champion? But how…? "'Ow did you become Potions Champion then?"

"Uh-uh," Shinji answered, waggling a finger. "I already answered your first question, and gave you a second for free. The answer to this third one…" He smirked. "…is a secret."

Fleur groaned, less than entirely impressed by the boy's somewhat flippant answer to this last question, though she supposed she could understand a desire for secrecy – especially one of his competitors was in the room with them, and Rachelle herself was fairly secretive about the full extent of her abilities.

"I'm going to be honest with you," the boy added with a shrug. "I'll be spending a good deal of time back at Hogwarts preparing for the Potions Competition, so I probably won't be around to be your bodyguard you _that_ much. Still, I thought I'd lend you what help I could, if you're fine with someone like me."

The half-Veela smiled weakly at the other Champion's words. She'd never met a boy who was genuinely interested in doing something for her without some ulterior motive at heart, whether driven by her allure, a desire to influence her, or otherwise, and it was curious that one so young could shrug off her aura so readily.

"Very vell, Mister Matou," the part-Veela answered softly, inclining her head. "I will accept your aid in the spirit in which it was offered. And in the time you are not present…"

"Arrangements can be made," Rachelle commented darkly as the petite blonde touched the rapier at her hip, with the young boy seeming oddly at ease with his fellow Champion's straightforward demeanor. "Between ze Potions Champions, and...other measures, you will be safe at Durmstrang, Fleur." At this, she smiled coldly. "Even if my reputation does not precede me."


	29. Ebb and Flow

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 29.** _Ebb and Flow_

Night at Durmstrang, as measured by the clock, and not by non-existent hours of daylight in winter, was always a quiet time. It was a time when few were out and about, when most retired to their rooms to rest, given that the new day, with its labors and trials would come to pass in a handful of hours, and experience had taught them to be ready. The quiet had only deepened in the days after the attack on the Tri-Wizard Champions, with the imposed - and strictly enforced - curfew meaning that the only people roaming the halls were the students selected for patrol duty, with the rest in their dormitories where they would be safe from ambush or depredation.

Yet not all was silent during the long hours of darkness, with Rachelle Perrot Lestrange, Potions Champion of Beauxbatons, standing alone on the snow-covered grounds, clad in a dark blue training robe with her rapier in her hand. No, not standing, moving, as she fenced with an invisible opponent, her feet carrying her backwards and forwards to the rhythm of an imaginary beat, as she shifted her weight, parrying an unseen blow and striking back with a fierce riposte.

To some, it seemed strange that a witch would practice the art of the blade, given that a sword was usually an impractical weapon in a world of wands, as it could only be used in a melee and lacked the variety of options a wand offered. But then, none of _them_ seemed the value of training one's body and mind, over simply one's magic, something her long departed parents had instilled in her from a young age, as their parents had for them.

To her, _Deuillegivre_ was more than just a blade – it was the physical representation of the legacy she was heir to, and the oath she had sworn to become the greatest alchemist who had ever lived, surpassing even her great ancestor.

And so she practiced, honing her skill with the beautiful implement of war, her motions flowing one to the next as she fought her shadow, battled with the doubts and fears and insecurities of the world around her, sometimes invisible, sometimes given form in great armored forms of ice and snow, only to be cut down, one by one, binding action to will, and will to power.

A dance of steel and silver, of ebb and flow, of shadows.

Such was her daily ritual after all had gone to sleep, her daily meditation on existence and the world, serving to reaffirm her goals and bring her peace after the travails of yet another day, no matter where was in the world, whether at home, at Beauxbatons, or here, in this frozen isle at the end of the world.

' _For all it lacks in culture, Durmstrang knows ze vorth of ze martial arts,'_ the petite blonde reflected as she moved, the tip of her rapier cleaving air with a whistling whirr. _'Perhaps one even practices l'escrime – ze art of blades?'_

It would be…nice to have someone to practice against, a living opponent whose actions and reactions she didn't have to choreograph in one of the partitions of her mind, even as she planned out a counter-strategy in another and remained aware of both with yet a third. However, as pleasant as it would be, her options in that regard were limited.

After all, Durmstrang seemed to train its students in the use of staves, not blades, and as for Hogwarts, well, the less said about that school the better. In the days since the attack, she'd seen the way others from the British school had looked at her, especially after those of Beauxbatons had gleefully informed them that of the two French Champions, the Etoile Noire was by far the more dangerous.

' _Zey meant well, I'm sure, but…'_

It wasn't as if she took any great pleasure in their fear and grief, though she did appreciate the fact that her…reputation was weighty enough that most steered well away from her.

Which is more or less what she desired, because she did not enjoy the company of people overmuch, nor wished to play their games. There were very people who she would tolerate for extended periods of time, though fortunately, it seemed as if some of her fellow Champions could be counted among their number. Fleur was familiar to her from their time at Beauxbatons. Rachelle Sondrol, the statuesque redhead who was Durmstrang's Potions Champions seemed amiable enough. Even Matou Shinji, the Potions Champion of Hogwarts, seemed a decent fellow, given his actions towards Fleur, though shortly thereafter he had returned to his home school for some training, and had remained away for a week.

Viktor Krum she'd only seen in passing, so she had no real opinion of the man, and as for the Tri-Wizard Champion of Hogwarts…he was perhaps the most mysterious of all, as he had not been seen outside Serpent's Refuge since the selection of the Three, with some wondering if he'd lost his nerve after being chosen as a Champion, or had come to regret the words he'd apparently said about his peers in the wake of the attack.

Rachelle thought otherwise, as she moved through a pattern of thrusts and parries, cuts and counters, slicing the tendon and sinew of a non-existent foe with spirit and technique flawless and firm.

' _Nothing is so simple for one from ze Banner of Serpents…'_

After all, she'd also heard that George Weasley was a hero of sorts to his peers, a wizard who was known for both playful pranks, and acts of valor, and so it seemed odd to her that he would simply hide himself away from the world.

But there was no time for further thought, as it was then that she detected a presence approaching the invisible boundary lines she had erected to warn her of intruders, and whirled to meet it, the blade in her hand _thrumming_ with anticipation as she moved, leaping into the air, glowing runes blossoming into existence under her feet, allowing her to move freely even when there was no ground.

One, two, five meters at a time, she closed, a quick motion of her blade causing the snow to rise up before her invisible quarry and harden into ice, while the fingers of her free hand traced a quick set of runes – runes that bound themselves to the ice, with whatever – or whoever – had been creeping up on her slamming into their impromptu barrier with a dull _gong_.

"Reveal yourself, _espion_ ," the Potions Champion ordered imperiously, as heretofore unseen runes blazed into existence across the surface of her blade with an ominous silver light. " _Maintenant_!"

For a moment, there was no response, and Rachelle's free fingers prepared to trace a few further runes to force the spy into revealing him-or-herself, but then the air before her _rippled_ , with the golden-eyed form of George Weasley, Tri-Wizard Champion of Hogwarts, appearing from nothingness, clad in the black and green robes of the banner of Serpents. For a moment, he seemed almost transparent – ghostly – but after a moment, his form took on a sense of solidity.

Not that it mattered to her, given that he was just a few meters from her blade – a distance she could easily close with a single lunge – and _Deuillegivre_ could cleave spirit as well as flesh.

"That blade..." he murmured, feeling a shiver go down his spine that had nothing to do with the chill night air as he glanced from the petite young woman who had cornered him to the blade she carried effortlessly.

" _Deuillegivre,"_ Rachelle supplied, as much out of respect for the implement of war, as much as anything else.

To her surprise, the other Champion seemed to shake off his sense of unease, the corners of his lips curving upwards into a semblance of a smile as he straightened, giving the girl a mock salute. "And you must be Miss Lestrange. Fancy seeing you out here."

"I could say ze same, Monsieur Veasley," Rachelle replied, inclining her head fractionally in acknowledgement of the gesture, though the tip of her rapier never wavered from the level of the Weasley boy's heart. "Tell me, vat are your intentions?"

"...nothing untoward, I assure you," George replied, taking care to make no sudden movements as he kept his hands in plain sight. "Especially not towards someone who has me at such a disadvantage." He forced out a chuckle. "For the record, would you mind telling me how you knew I was there?"

"Non" came the instant reply.

"A pity," George sighed. "As to why I'm here, I was simply out for a walk, when I came upon a strange sight: a witch with a silver blade. Goblin steel, I take it?"

"Non. Alchemie."

"Ah," the lanky Weasley boy replied, filing the fact away. "Well, in any case, I thought it would be nice to speak with someone outside of the Banner of Serpents."

"A dangerous thing, approaching a stranger, like zat," the girl noted, watching the other's reaction carefully. "And vithout your required escort."

"…well, I didn't want to be a bother," George said easily, perhaps a little too easily. "And it isn't as if I'm in any danger from _you_ , am I?"

For a long moment, Rachelle Perrot Lestrange just _looked_ at the Champion standing before her, as if weighing her options, but as quickly as it came, the moment passed, with the petite blonde stepping back and lowering her blade, as the light of the runes faded.

"Not if you do not wish me ill," the girl said quietly, her silver eye curious. "Tell me, Veasley, the Banner of Serpents does not know you not in ze Refuge, does it?"

"They don't," the youth admitted, lowering his hands in relief as the blade's ominous aura disappeared. "It's easier that way, don't you think? They don't need to bother detailing someone to protect me, and without a keeper, I'm free to do as I wish."

"Is zat so?" Rachelle mused idly, wondering if there was any real reason for the boy's glib confidence. "Monsieur, do you lack a sense of danger? Champion or not, invisible or not, you are not invincible."

"True, though few enough can truly test my capacity," George commented, leaning back against the barrier of ice his fellow Champion had raised – only to lose his balance and fall flat on his back as it dissipated at his touch. "…ok, perhaps I was a bit overconfident," he added after a moment, as he found himself looking up at the starlit sky.

"Indeed."

"Still, I could ask the same of you," the boy continued, shaking his head and deciding to stay on the ground instead of attempting to get up. "It is late, after all, and most decent folk are in their beds resting in preparation for the day ahead. Yet here you are, alone, blade in hand, standing over an unarmed man who means you no harm. Do you do this often, Etoile Noire?"

For several seconds, only the sound of the wind could be heard, before Rachelle Lestrange sighed and sheathed her weapon.

"Non," the girl said by way of reply. "I am not ze monster of legend some believe. Even if zose who meant me harm are gone, and I remain." She paused, considering what to say next. "If you had been like zem, Monsieur Veasley, you vould not be here to regret it."

Most people would have been disconcerted by the fact that Rachelle's innocent, sweet tones were so incongruous with the content of her words, but George Weasley was not most people. And besides, he was quite familiar with one Fujou Kohaku, who was not…entire dissimilar.

"You're a dangerous girl, Miss Lestrange," George offered after a moment. "There are very few people who can sense me when I use my…gifts. Yet you not only noticed me, but stopped me from fleeing, using only a sword and runes. Not even a wand. Where did you learn all of that?"

"I cannot say," Rachelle answered, her fingers caressing the hilt of her rapier, as if they itched to draw it forth to finish what she had started.

"Cannot or will not?"

"Does it matter, Monsieur Veasley?" she questioned sweetly, to which George shook his head.

"...no, I suppose it doesn't," George conceded. "In the end, the outcome is the same." He looked up at her speculatively, his golden eyes seeming to glow as he studied her form. "So why _are_ you alone, and not say in the company of Miss Delacour – or perhaps Matou, given…?"

The boy trailed off, realizing belatedly that Rachelle was one of Matou's direct competitors.

"Monsieur Matou is at 'ogwarts for training, but if you mean his attraction to me, I am aware of it," Rachelle noted, her expression slightly distant and uncaring.

For her, such a thing had not been particularly hard to deduce from the way he looked at her, from how he had sought her out, volunteering to come with her to see Fleur when he didn't know the part-Veela at all, and more so, from how he had shrugged off the part-Veela's allure by looking at _her_. Perhaps the Japanese boy didn't realize it himself, and truly thought he was simply doing the right thing, but there was more to it than that, she was certain.

Few – especially of his age – were so selfless as to sacrifice their reputation for the sake of another without some other motive.

"Oh. That…you're aware of it, are you?" George echoed, startled by the girl's admission. Frankly, he didn't think Matou was really that transparent, given his reputation at Hogwarts as something of a playboy and a flirt, and if anything, the rumors said he might have fallen under the sway of the French _Tri-Wizard_ Champion. Still, given Lestrange's resemblance to Lovegood, he could see that perhaps the rumors had - not for the first time - been wrong. "I hope..."

"Fear not, Monsieur. Champion Matou has not embarrassed himself overmuch," the girl noted, her voice clear, almost amused in a detached sort of way. "Even if his interest is plain for zose vith eyes to see..."

"You…haven't taken advantage of him, I hope?" the Stone Cutter asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat up, uneasily. "He may be a Champion, and someone from a strange land, who most of Hogwarts finds confusing from time to time, but before all of that, he is my friend, and I would not wish to see him hurt in that way."

Rachelle only snorted, an unladylike sound that was charming in its incongruity.

"Monsieur Veasley, such a thing is beneath me, both as a Champion and an Alchemist," she replied, with George's eyes widening at the word she used to describe herself.

"...an Alchemist," the red-haired teen echoed, his expression going slack as a piece of the puzzle _clicked_.

Only one other person he knew of had ever described herself as an Alchemist, not a potioneer or witch, or so forth: Sialim Sokaris - the late potions genius who had been closer to Matou Shinji than anyone else in the world, for who the Japanese boy's heart apparently yearned even now.

Did Matou see an echo of Sokaris in Miss Lestrange, the Stone Cutter wondered? If so, it was possible that as worldly and cultured as Matou believed himself to be, he might have found himself projecting what he had felt for Sokaris onto the Etoile Noire of Beauxbatons, without even consciously realizing it himself. Coupled with Rachelle Lestrange's physical resemblance to Luna Lovegood, George could see how the boy might be drawn in… "I see."

"Indeed, following in the footsteps of those who came before," Rachelle acknowledged. "It was my ancestor who founded the Centre for Alchemical Studies, after all."

"In Egypt?" George inquired sharply. He didn't know of any others, but it never hurt to be sure.

"Indeed."

"...you wouldn't happen to be familiar with a family by name of Sokaris, would you?" he hazarded, acting on a hunch. Perhaps this girl knew something about the enigmatic orphan who Matou had become close to – or at least her family.

"Non. Should I be?" the girl asked mildly, trading a question for a question.

"No, I suppose not," George allowed, the wheels in his head turning as he thought back to memories that he hadn't looked over a long time and frowned. During the incident with the Boggart in the chambers beneath Hogwarts, the apparition that had materialized as what Sialim Sokaris feared most had called her by a different name – one she seemed to know. "What of the Eltnam, then?"

The mood in the clearing shifted, with the air going very, very still in the wake of the Stone Cutter's question.

"The Eltnam?" the Alchemist echoed, her eyes widening fractionally at the mention of a name she knew well, but had not heard from another's lips in a very long time, not since her parents were still alive. It was a name she had been warned not to expect someone not of her bloodline – or at least, someone who was not a devoted Alchemist – to know. Yet before her sat a student of Hogwarts, a teenager who was no Alchemist and certainly not of her blood, speaking the name of the one who had been Master for a time to her ancestor – and to Nicholas Flamel, a name which had long since been forgotten by time. "My ancestor learned his arts from an Alchemist of ze name, long before he founded of ze Centre, but few have cause to know zis." She regarded the boy intently, her silver eyes boring into his gold. "How did you come by zis name, Veasley?"

"...I met someone who called herself an Alchemist once," George said slowly, looking away as his thoughts drifted to the past. "Someone I am proud to have called one of my comrades." He shook his head, trying to see where this new piece of information fit. "She was only a first year, but what she knew about potions, and the way she used them..." Now that some time had passed, and he had the advantage of distance, what Sialim Sokaris had been capable of had been incredible. No, for someone of Matou's age now, it would have been incredible. For a first year…

The boy shook his head. Even among those who had access to the Book of Potions, few had displayed the innate mastery of the art of potioneering or the sheer amount of knowledge that she had – and fewer still would be able to apply that knowledge to something practical.

Like fighting a troll.

"She…I think, was an Eltnam," George supplied, with Rachelle Lestrange seeming poleaxed by the revelation.

"Ze Eltnam…still live?" the petite blonde whispered after a time, almost disbelievingly. But the Stone Cutter did not answer. "Veasley, what happened to zis girl?" she all but demanded. "Why is she not here, as a Champion?"

"I think you can probably guess, Miss Lestrange," George said quietly, a sad smile on his lips as the gold in his eyes faded out. "If she was alive today, she would be Champion, I'm sure. Since she isn't, Matou has become so in her place, following in her footsteps to do what she cannot."

A fey silence hung heavy in the clearing in the wake of the Stone Cutter's admission, but even that could only last so long in the face of curiosity.

"This Eltnam," Rachelle asked, her figure quite still as she looked off into the distance. "Who was she to your Potions Champion? Simply a comrade, like you?" Somehow, by the way that Matou simply called himself an aspiring Alchemist, she rather thought there was more to it than that.

"No," George answered, as he rose at last to his feet. "If you want to know more, perhaps you should ask him when he returns. After all, she was his closest friend."

"Ah." The petite Potions Champion blinked, not having expected that. "My condolences."

"Eh well, I've said too much already," the Stone Cutter noted with a hint of chagrin. "And I'm afraid I should probably be going. So if you don't mind…"

Rachelle Lestrange waved him off, and taking that as a sign of dismissal, George's form vanished once more with, with the Alchemist's senses tracking him as he receded into the distance until at last he moved out of her range.

"So the Eltnam lived on," she murmured to herself. "And yet this new Eltnam is gone, leaving behind only a foreign potioneer. A pity. I would have like to meet one of that line, given what I know of my ancestor's master, Oberon."

For now, though, she simply drew her blade once more and began to spar with an opponent woven over imagination once more, as she had her daily meditations to complete.


	30. The Weakest Link

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 30.** _The Weakest Link_

Despite what others might have thought, however, Matou Shinji was not, in fact, at Hogwarts, being drilled in the art of brewing by Potions Master Horace Slughorn, who had replaced Severus Snape upon the latter's resignation. Certainly, there was training he was required to take as the British Potions Champion, and the boy from the east paid close attention to what he was taught there, but aside from that – and from his consultations with Gilderoy Lockhart, who he had confirmed to be a member of the Order of Assassins – Shinji preferred to spend his time _elsewhere,_ as Hogwarts was no longer a welcoming place for him.

' _But then, maybe I should have expected that when I chose to become Miss Delacour's bodyguard…'_

It was, after all, essentially stating that the actions of his peers in attacking the Champions of the other schools had been in error. That the lives of the part-Veela – and of Viktor Krum, Britain's current Public Enemy #1 – mattered more than those of the British youths they had ruthlessly cut down, allegedly in self-defense, a sentiment that most of those at Hogwarts took exception to, including members of the army in training.

No one had been foolish enough to take action against him, of course, given that Shinji still had a reputation for being incredibly dangerous, but there were already mutters going around about treacherous foreigners who had wormed their way into the trust of the Boy-Who-Lived and into the position of Britain's Champion – only to turn around and betray them at the first opportunity, spurning the generous offer to become a true British Citizen…and siding with their enemies.

Given the increasingly hostile environment, Shinji preferred to spend his time at _Mahoutokoro_ , as the city of magic was far more welcoming to him than anywhere in Britain – and of course, it was the place he could best hone his Eastern Arts and his experiments with blending rare potions ingredients from East and West, though the latter was met with limited success, even with the help of the spirit of the _Book of Potions._

"It's…more than a bit frustrating," the boy groused as he chopped up a blood-red bulb of Witch's Ganglion, an uncommon pond-dwelling plant endemic to the Far East. "I just did what was right – what anyone would do, and for that, they think I've betrayed them."

He shook his head tiredly.

"What's in the _Prophet_ doesn't help either," Shinji said, more quietly. "Pansy's accounts are factual enough, but the columns other people write…"

Some of them painted him as a Dark Lord in the making, a dangerous youth who would eventually rise to become the next You-Know-Who, who excelled at twisting the loyalty of others and exploiting others' affections to gain what he wanted.

Some painted him as a powerful, but naïve boy whose innocence – and affection for Miss Lovegood, who was, after all, a British Witch, even if her beliefs were somewhat odd – had been stolen away by the part-Veela who had been chosen as Champion of Beauxbatons, the inhuman temptress who used her allure and her womanly wiles to capture the hearts of men and turn them into puppets before her will.

Perhaps the most sympathetic tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, painting him as well-meaning but misguided, since as a foreigner, he wasn't as familiar with the politics of the situation, and so thought the right thing to do was to leap to the defense of a pretty face over the nameless individuals that had attacked her, no matter that the pretty face had shown herself do be a dangerous – and ruthless – killer on par with Bellatrix Lestrange…and who, in fact, could often be found _in the company_ of a _Lestrange._

Not wanting to deal with this…unpleasantness, the young Potions Champion had taken advantage of his secret Vanishing Cabinet links to go from Hogwarts to his manor, and from his manor to _Mahoutokoro_ , with the Ministry none-the-wiser. For all they knew, he was spending time in some unused corner of Hogwarts, working on his brewing, and staying well away from the corrupting influence of Fleur Delacour, an assumption that Shinji was happy to let them hold so long as it meant he retained his relative freedom of movement.

"I do not understand," the boy's companion stated plainly, as the bespectacled, raven-haired Witch added golden leaves to her cauldron and stirred the mix six – no, seven – times. This was Sajyou Ayaka, the Potions Champion of _Mahoutokoro,_ who made a point of working with the British Champion when he came, as she wished to benefit from the wisdom of the _Book of Potions._ "If Britain has become hostile, why do you remain, Matou Shinji?"

The boy froze at the witch's remark, given that her words echoed those of the thoughts in his head. Had she looked into his mind and seen what he'd been thinking, he wondered? But then he sighed. Anyone would ask why he bothered to stay, with everything that was happening.

"Given your ties to the Fujou, and your previous service to _Mahoutokoro_ , there would be no issue with you transferring here," Ayaka remarked evenly. "Unless you have other ties to Britain which give you a reason to stay?"

A reason to stay?

"Well…" he began, only for his voice to trail off.

"If it is your affection for your…lover that causes you to remain, I am certain she and her father would be welcome here as well, as both have ties here," the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ continued. "She is bonded with a _kitsune_ , and her father has taught a course on the beasts of the West."

"…it's not just that," Shinji broke in, shaking his head. "There are…other factors involved."

 _'Friends.'_

...for instance, there were the Stone Cutters, the brothers-in-arms he had come to trust and rely on in his time abroad, even if that relationship had become…frayed as of late, with the Twins seemingly finding themselves on opposite sides of an ideological divide and Harry increasingly busy with his duties as the British Youth Representative.

 _'Obligations.'_

There was Tohsaka, who he worried about, given what had happened earlier this year, as he had never quite realized how _alone_ she was in the world, or how difficult a time she had connecting with others. Granted, she had taken his place as his former Master's apprentice, but even so, he couldn't really find it in himself to resent her, given that she had needed some pillar of stability more than he at that point.

Through his bonds, he had become strong enough to weather the storms that came at him, even enduring the wrath of Matou Zouken when he had turned against his family, but Tohsaka…hadn't really have anyone to help her on her journey. Which was why, when she thought _he_ had died along with the rest of the Matous...well, in some ways it was flattering how she had responded when she'd learned he was alive, and in other ways, it had crushed the illusion of the strong, imperturbable Tohsaka who had been everyone's idol.

' _My new Master.'_

Gilderoy Lockhart, the only person in the world who had ever accepted him as a full apprentice, albeit after Shinji had shown him the Hidden Blade that Zouken had given him, with the man subsequently testing his proficiency in the arts of combat and finding him wanting.

He knew that the Assassin was unhappy about what was going on in Britain, and the restrictions that had been placed upon the teaching staff of Hogwarts, but frankly, he didn't have any idea what the man intended to do about it.

Perhaps he could have found out, since after the grueling test of combat, in which he'd faced first Pansy and then Lockhart himself, the man had offered to answer a single question for him on any topic whatsoever. As a person who valued knowledge, Shinji had found that a most generous offer, and had been tempted to just come out and ask what the man planned to do about what was going on in Britain, since it would be unlike Lockhart to just let things be, or to ask him about the other factions the Assassins worked with, since he wanted a better understanding of where they fit into the moonlit world as a whole.

In the end though, he'd chosen to save his question for another time, as he didn't know enough as of yet to know not just what he wanted to know, but what would be _useful_ in the long run to his patron. When asked why, Shinji had merely mentioned that sometimes, it was best to simply take a leap of faith, a turn of phrase that had brought a flicker of amusement to both Lockhart and Pansy Parkinson, for some reason.

Still, the man had agreed, since it would be uncharitable to take back an offer after it had been extended, though now that he looked back upon the encounter, Shinji found himself wishing he _had_ asked something, even if only to get an idea of the context Lockhart operated in.

It was odd, really. Despite only ever being Aozaki Touko's provisional apprentice, he knew far more about her and what she did than about Gilderoy Lockhart, given the many layers there were to the man, who was simultaneously a History Professor, an Adventurer, an Assassin, and who knew what else.

' _And of course…Sokaris.'_

More than anyone or anything else, the Director of Atlas' charge to him to do his best as Potions Champion, to test his abilities, to learn what he could about the Isle of Thule, the fragment of a past Age on which the Competition would be held, was what compelled him to stay.

For her sake, he would stay.

For her sake, he would endure the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and push himself harder than he had ever pushed himself, so he could stand shoulder to shoulder with his peers on the world stage.

For her sake, he would strive to do the very best he could – no, to _become_ the very best, like no one before him. Sokaris had put her faith in him, and he would rather die than disappoint her.

All of which together meant leaving was not an option, at least not before the Competition was over.

"...more than one reason, actually," he answered at last, shaking his head. "In the years I've been over there, I've made quite a few ties. Ties of trust…and obligation."

Sajyou Ayaka just grunted.

"Hence your inner conflict," she remarked, turning back to her potion while shaking her head.

"Yes," Shinji acknowledged, as he looked down at a bubbling pot of a brew that was changing color from fuchsia to viridian to a pearl-white sheen. "In getting to where I am now, I've caused...pain to a good many people and disappointed others." People like Tohsaka or Hermione Granger. People like Harry. People like his former Master. "And in getting to where I am, I owe much to many, so..."

He closed his eyes and shook his head as he took a deep, shuddering breath.

"In short, you do not like what Britain is becoming, but you cannot simply leave," Ayaka summed up, with the British Champion nodding wearily.

"It makes it hard to know what to do," Shinji admitted, feeling a sense of relief that he could just tell someone this – someone who really didn't have a stake in it either way, or at least whose stake was a relatively minor one, since he supposed if he left, his replacement would be much less capable of competing with the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_. "I know that in the long run, I won't stay in Britain – at least not in Wizarding Britain, but…"

"This is somewhat more immediate."

"...well, yes." Plus there was the fact that for Matou Shinji, Hogwarts (and Britain, by extension!) was the place where he'd first begun to flourish, where he'd come into his own. To see it twisted into something darker by fear and uncertainty, becoming a place where the guilty were set free and the innocent condemned, tore at him, especially given that he'd counseled Harry to accept the position of Britain's Youth Representative – to be its face and stand for its people, come what may. "I just...I wish there was something I could do."

Sajyou Ayaka had nothing to offer the boy, since she hadn't exactly found himself in a similar situation, and so she thought it best if the boy was able to think about what he wanted for himself.

"You could always try overthrowing the Ministry," came an amused interjection from the door of the potions lab, with Shinji looking up from his potion to see the handsome youth who called himself Tomas Peverell framed by the open entryway. "That would solve your problem, I'm sure."

Shinji just blinked, not sure he had heard the puppet correctly.

"...overthrow the Ministry?" the boy echoed incredulously. "Tomas, what are you even-"

"Admittedly, you'd need an army for that, especially with the Ministry raising its own," the puppet continued nonchalantly, acting as if Shinji hadn't spoken. "And since Greyback's forces in Europe aren't exactly under your command, you'd need the support of some other faction. Perhaps the Goblins? They have always chafed under the rule of wizards, though their loyalty would be tricky to buy – and hold."

"Tomas—"

"That, and it would probably look bad for a foreigner to try to undermine the British Ministry at this time, especially in collusion with non-human forces," Tomas mused aloud. "It is a very different time from when Voldemort first began his campaign long ago, after all, with the British more united than ever before against what they see as a hostile world. No, to have any hope of success – and to ensure one has some shred of legitimacy thereafter, one would need to be a British wizard, preferably one that is already known and trusted by the people of Britain. A hero, perhaps. Someone like—"

"Harry would never go for—" Shinji interrupted, only for Tomas to just go on talking

"—Gilderoy Lockhart," Tomas concluded, cutting off Shinji's protest in mid-sentence, with the boy's mouth working up and down for a few seconds in silence. "The greatest adventurer Britain has ever seen, as I recall…as well as your new Master. Yes, I could see him being the leader of a successful rebellion…"

"Can I assist you, Peverell-san?" Sajyou Ayaka interrupted, turning her attention to the puppet. "As you may have noticed, Tsuchimikado-san is not here, so unless you have business with one of us, there is business we must be about."

Tomas chuckled.

"Point taken, Sajyou-san," the handsome youth replied with a wry smile. "My apologies for interrupting. I just happened to overhear Matou speaking about the situation in Britain, and thought perhaps I could offer a suggestion."

"Conspiring to overthrowing the established government of Britain is hardly a useful suggestion," Ayaka rejoined, with Tomas waving as if to concede the point. "Especially if he wishes to remain Champion."

"True," the puppet noted idly. "On the other hand, as Champion of Britain, if conflict does break out, people will look to him to choose a side."

"You seem rather certain it will, Peverell," the raven-haired Witch noted quietly, with Tomas meeting her gaze evenly.

"Fear and anger are powerful tools with which to unite a fractured people," he explained, speaking more to Shinji than Ayaka. "And certainly, Minister Malfoy wields it with aplomb, giving him a control over the hearts and minds of the public of Wizarding Britain unmatched by any other leader in history. In these uncertain times, where the world seems to be against them, he has given them confidence, assuring them that _they_ are the just, they who are righteous, and that they can – and shall – prevail, if they close ranks against outsiders and stand together."

"But…?" Shinji asked, for he could sense that the statement was not quite complete.

"As powerful as fear is, it is difficult to keep…focused," the puppet continued. "It is much like Fiendfyre: once loosed, it takes on a mind of its own in the population, consuming all in its path." Tomas chuckled mirthlessly, though there was no smile on his lips. "Make no mistake, the new Minister is not the first to use fear as a weapon. Other Ministers have done the same, after all, with that fear turned against giants, goblins, werewolves and more, since the promise of protection and greatness is one of the easiest ways to convince people to give up their liberty." He looked between the two Champions, shrugging. "You both know it as well as I: that Wizarding Britain is not by any means a utopia, despite what it could be, with its leaders reinforcing the rhetoric of wizard supremacy for generations, while limiting what wizards can do with magic so they can maintain their legal supremacy."

"…you sound like Professor Lockhart," Shinji realized, frowning as he considered the implications of what he'd just said.

"Indeed?" Tomas remarked. "Then I'm certain your Professor has spoken about the reason why goblins control the bank, and most of the British Wizarding Economy?"

"He called it part of the uneasy balance between Goblins and practitioners of witchcraft," Matou recalled. "With the goblins having _nominal_ control over the levers of the economy, while wizards – in limiting wands to themselves – also agreed to limit what they do with wand-magic so as not to make the role of goblins obsolete. I never understood why, though?"

"It was a trap," Tomas explained. "A trap that the Goblins fell into in their lust for gold, but also a trap for wizardkind, as taking this role – and the scraps of dignity it offers – away from the Goblins, could prompt an all-out war that would make the so-called 'goblin rebellions' look like what they really were: somewhat unruly protests against the prejudice and discrimination of wizards towards their kind, and the draconian laws that they are forced to obey, though they had no hand in crafting them."

"That…" Shinji swallowed. "That would be…"

"A disaster?" Tomas supplied, the corners of his lips twitching into a sly smile. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it would be the beginning of a glorious revolution, with the Ministry overthrown and an era of more equitable relations for all. Well, as long as there were wizards supporting them…as there have been in each of the past Rebellions. Otherwise, who is to say that the wizards of Britain wouldn't be forced to become second-class citizens in their own country?"

"…that's a very grim picture you're painting, Tomas," Matou Shinji replied, shaking his head. "Do you really think such a thing is likely?"

"With how they have been treated, and the current instability, I can see it happening," the puppet affirmed. "For the first time in its history, the wizards of Britain face disaster at the hands of an inhuman enemy. The Ministry is desperately increasing its forces in an attempt to be ready before the next attack, but in the process, it is also taking away the few privileges the goblins have enjoyed for centuries. And when a people have nothing to lose…" Tomas shrugged. "In the end though, who am I to say what glory or disaster, who is hero or villain? It is not my place – as it is not yours."

"It's not?"

"No, Matou. All you have to be concerned with is choosing a side and fulfilling the role you were meant to play."

"And what role might that be?" Shinji asked, narrowing his eyes, as the puppet laughed.

"Now _that_ , Matou Shinji, is the right question," Tomas remarked, before he left, presumably in search of Tsuchimikado Hokuto.

* * *

That night, as Shinji slipped beneath the covers of the bed in his manor, and snuggling against Luna's lithe, warm form, he found that he couldn't sleep, as images of the doomsday scenario Tomas described kept playing in his head, interspersed with some of the more unpleasant revelations he had been privy to during the past week.

One of the worst had been during his meeting with Professor Horace Slughorn, who was to oversee his training as Potions Champion. To be frank, the boy from the east hadn't thought much of the old man, who was quite short and possessed of a rather immense belly, though he conceded that the Professor nonetheless had a certain air of power to him, probably from how he was dressed. Horace Slughorn, after all, was a Slytherin through and through, down to the enormous, silver, walrus-like moustache he loved to twirl, and knew that if one dressed and acted in a way befitting a role, one could inspire a great deal of confidence and respect – even if one's appearance did let on that one enjoyed life's little luxuries perhaps a little too much.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Mister Matou," the Potions Master had greeted him with a thin smile and a firm handshake that left his hand a bit numb. "Your reputation precedes you, as you will no doubt be delighted to hear."

"Thrilled," Shinji had commented wryly. "As long as what you've heard makes me look good."

"Ha! You remind me of me when I was young!" Slughorn had said, raising both eyebrows as he released the boy's hand. "Though unlike you, I was never a prodigy."

"I'm not a prodigy, sir, just someone who knows what he wants and is willing to do what it takes to get there," the boy had replied.

"Heh. Well said, Mister Matou," Horace Slughorn had noted. "Though it takes more than just hard work to become the youngest potions champion in history. Even have the endorsement of Hector himself, no less."

"Hector Dagworth-Granger, Professor?"

"The same. And just between you and me, with him being the head of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, I'm inclined to trust his judgement, as far as potions are concerned," the Potions Master had confirmed as he looked the boy over. "Still, I have heard a few things I find concerning. Read, rather."

"Oh?" Shinji had asked, his face smoothing into expressionless mask.

"I don't suppose you've read the _Daily Prophet_ lately, have you?" the man had inquired, with Shinji shaking his head. "According to the paper, which admittedly has been known to stretch the truth now and then, you and Mister Weasley have been making quite a stir at Durmstrang."

"Which Weasley?" Shinji had interjected.

"Ah, the Tri-Wizard Champion, George," Slughorn had supplied. "Apparently, you and he both chose to side with a Veela and Viktor Krum himself over loyal sons of Britain who sought justice. In fact, if the paper is to be believed, you volunteered to be the French Champion's personal attendant. Care to explain yourself, Mister Matou?"

"I, uh…"

At the time, Shinji hadn't really thought about what the press might say, given that Pansy had been the press liaison from the _Prophet,_ and he hadn't expected him to report anything untoward. Of course, that didn't mean other writers back in Britain couldn't take the facts and run with them, he supposed.

"If it was her Veela allure, son, there's no shame in admitting to it," Slughorn had said kindly. "Veela, after all, can get the best of any of us if we aren't prepared for what they can do."

"No. It wasn't that," Shinji had replied. Admittedly, the aura had affected him, but not to the extent that he couldn't think, and if he were honest, he was far more attracted to Rac…the boy cut off his treacherous thoughts before they could go much further than that. "May I see a copy of the _Prophet?_ I think I have a right to know what is being said about me before I say anything further."

Slughorn had raised an eyebrow, but nodded, gesturing for Shinji to follow him to the front of the room, where the Potions Master produced a copy of the paper from his desk and handed it to Shinji, who took it with muttered thanks.

To his (not so) mild irritation, Shinji had found that he made the front page, and not for anything good, given the headline – by Rita Skeeter of all people – called into question his loyalties, his abilities, and his sacred honor, with the column beneath it openly wondering whether it was truly right that a foreigner should represent Britain on the world stage in these troubled times, especially one so young and easily influenced by dark _creatures_ like Veela.

Worse than what had been written about him though, was what had been written about George and his infamous declaration, with Skeeter obviously having done her research, as she mentioned George Weasley having what amounted to a Japanese sweetheart at _Mahoutokoro (_ something that Shinji found amusing, since he couldn't really picture Fujou Kohaku being anyone's sweetheart), based on a conversation with his brother Percy, who was concerned as to whether his time abroad had irreparably damaged his loyalties. Skeeter had gone further than that though, speculating that perhaps George's current stance towards his countrymen was not the result of a summer fling, but of prolonged interaction with Matou Shinji, the wealthy and powerful foreigner who had _refused British Citizenship_ , practiced unknown arts of no-doubt Dark origin, and had, through cunning and guile, taken the position of Champion away from the Boy-Who-Lived, who was obviously more qualified for the position, given that since the Potter line had first come into being, their members had almost universally been skilled potioneers – save James Potter, whose life had been tragically cut short by the reign of You-Know-Who and had never had the chance to come into his talent.

Shinji's jaw had tightened as he continued to read, finding what amounted to insult upon insult piled upon his head, but what eventually made him put the paper down with disgust wasn't one of _those_ columns, which had merely infuriated him. No, what shocked and horrified him was an article welcoming the "loyal sons of Britain" who had "acted to uphold justice" – the Hufflepuffs who had attacked Delacour and Krum without provocation – back to British soil, hailing them as heroes who had taken the opportunity to confront Britain's enemies at great personal cost, with the Wizengamot recognizing their deeds and offering them not only freedom, but monetary reward and positions in the new army.

At that point, Matou Shinji had been ready to burn what was obviously gibberish into ash, but with great effort, the boy forced himself to relax, as such a display would do no good here. Instead, he had kept reading, wanting to see if there was anything of use he could learn from it – and there was, as he saw that while several of the youths had outright been killed, it was the fate of the group leader which had inspired the most outrage, as his mind had been irreparably damaged by some unknown technique.

According to the Healers interviewed, examination by a Legilimens had discovered that the boy's mind had been trapped in his memory of the Quidditch World Cup, forced to witness those he loved dying over and over and over again, until the boy's will to live had broken. Try as they might, none of the Healers had managed to break the curse upon him, and so the boy had ended up dying, a rictus of terror and soul-deep pain on his face.

What had happened to this boy was "worse than the Cruciatus", the Healer had explained, as this insidious spell had seized upon the boy's own magic and life to sustain its effects, leaving them with no way of ending this endless torture. The article had cited this as an example of the power of the Dark Arts, a spell which clearly demonstrated the cruelty and depravity of both inhuman beasts like the Veela, and of Dark Wizards like Krum and his ilk at Durmstrang.

If nothing else, the article had said – what happened to these boys showed the need for all of Britain to unite against the Dark, and proved that the survivors were heroes, for what else could they be, when their opponents stooped to such depths?

Shinji had closed his eyes, his arms falling to his sides as he stilled himself, focusing on each inhalation and exhalation as he fought to keep from screaming in rage at how the writer missed the fact that _three dozen_ people had ambushed _two_ , with intent to kill, without any good reason. As far as _he_ was concerned, the fact that there were survivors at all spoke well of Delacour and Krum's restraint, because he himself would likely have been much less merciful.

After all, if those Hufflepuffs had been prepared to kill, then they should have been prepared to _be_ killed.

"So, now that you've had a chance to say what the _Prophet_ has to say, what are your thoughts on all this, boy?" the voice of Horace Slughorn had asked, interrupting his line of thought. "About the attack, the aftermath, and why you of all people chose to be the French Champion's bodyguard. You were there, I wasn't, so I'm curious what was going through your head - if there was anything rational, considering how…seductive a Veela can be to a boy your age!"

The boy had looked up at Slughorn, his eyes blazing with dark fire as he fought past rage, past the impulse to say something cutting and vehement, with the two partitions of his mind desynchronizing from the other, one raging on, while the other processed the situation coldly.

"I can understand why the Hufflepuffs were angry," Shinji had answered after a minute. "I can understand their need for vengeance against the ones who wronged them. I can even understand why some saw attacking Miss Delacour and Viktor Krum as an act of justice."

"You do?"

"But just because I understand doesn't mean what they did was any less wrong, or that _three dozen people_ are somehow heroes for attempting to kill two – especially when the only thing those two did was try to defend themselves." The Matou boy's voice had been icy, with his features hard and no ounce of compassion whatsoever. "The fact that the _Prophet_ is complaining that these two people used deadly force when faced with over thirty murderous fiends just goes to show that whoever is on the writing staff is either naïve to the realities of war or willfully ignorant."

"…are you saying you know the realities of war better than they, Mister Matou?" Slughorn had inquired, his voice just as hard. "After all, You-Know-Who's reign of terror only ended a dozen years ago, and many of those writing for the _Prophet_ today remember what it was like to live in fear every second of every day, wondering if, when they woke up, that would be the day they died. What happened at the Quidditch World Cup reminded them of that – reminded them that _they are not safe_ , and that there are Dark forces in this world who would like nothing more than the extinction of all wizards."

"Of course," Shinji had replied, his grey eyes stony as he felt the Command Seals on his upper arm throb. "For two hundred years, my hometown has been a battleground for a war waged between practitioners far greater than any in Britain, with my family serving on the front lines of that war. I grew up seeing the burned out wreckage of the last great clash, where hundreds died, eaten by flames. I grew up learning how to fight, how to defend myself – that in a life or death battle, where it is kill or be killed, you _kill._ Those writers, whoever they are, might remember what it was like to be afraid, might be thankful that _someone else_ saved them, but I'll bet none of them ever had to fight for their lives against some implacable foe who they thought would end them. I have, and you know it, so with all due respect, Professor, don't try to imply that I don't know the realities of war _._ "

"Is that why you don't seem to be very sympathetic towards our honored dead, Mister Matou?" Professor Slughorn had noted, his voice low and almost…dangerous. "Because you think _they should have known better_?"

"I think I can sympathize with how their lives were cut short while still condemning their actions," the boy had stated bluntly. "Besides, there's no point in me – or George – calling the deaths of the fallen a tragedy or declaring that we stand for Hogwarts. Doing that would only encourage this cycle of hatred and lead to more deaths. No – it's better to stand with Delacour and Krum and make it clear that if need be, _I_ will stand in the way of anyone who seeks misguided vengeance – because it's the right thing to do."

Slughorn had needed a moment to digest the logic behind Shinji's statement, but when he finally processed it, had found himself gaining a sense of respect for the young boy.

"I see. You're trying to avert another tragedy, even if it means making yourself into a villain," the Potions Professor had murmured, with a hint of a smile. "That's surprisingly noble. And here I thought you just wanted to get into that Veela's robes."

"Not at all, Professor," the boy had replied, a wry smile on his face. "I already have a lover, remember?"

"…so I hear, Mister Matou, so I hear," Slughorn had noted heavily, shaking his head. "Right then. We have little more than half a term before the Potions Championship, which is not very much time at all. I am more than willing to teach you what I know, but I fear I will only be able to concentrate on one specialty, with the Book of Potions having to fill in the rest. If you were older, you might already know some of what I wished to teach, but as it is…"

"I understand, Professor," Shinji had said with a shrug. "I can't help how old I am."

"In that case, what would you like my help with?" the Professor had asked. "I can teach you several things, really. Shortcuts to brewing, so you can more readily make potions for combat purposes. Advanced Potions Theory, such as what you would learn in seventh year or beyond, so you can create more effective potions with fewer ingredients. Or even the basics of Alchemy and transmutation, including the theory behind the legendary Panacea and other lesser cures…unless you have something else in mind?"

"What would be most helpful to me in learning to use the ingredients of the East and the West?" Shinji had inquired. "If I'm going to impress anyone at the Potions Championship, it won't be through doing what everyone expects. It will be through finding something only I can do and creating something new – something no one has ever seen before."

"Creating something no one has ever seen before…" Slughorn had murmured, raising an eyebrow and chuckling. "Do you know, Mister Matou, that what you describe is the dream of most Potioneers? It's just that most of us don't have the talent or ambition to create new potions. Oh, we can follow recipes and brew some truly sophisticated mixes, but…experimenting like that is…risky. Wizards have died trying what you seek to accomplish."

Shinji had just shrugged, as he wasn't exactly unused to walking with death.

"If I die, it might as well be in the course of trying to do something meaningful," he had said, a statement which made Slughorn quite curious. "Don't misunderstand, Professor, I don't want to die any more than anyone else. I just want to make something of myself. To live up to…" The boy had shaken his head, his voice trailing off.

"…to live up to the memory of your late friend," Slughorn had supplied, much to Shinji's surprise. "I read Severus' file on you, boy. I just wanted to be sure you were who he thought you were before I bothered training you."

"And am I?"

"You are. You're a lot like him, Mister Matou. Young, brilliant, and very, very troubled."

* * *

Back in the present, Shinji sighed heavily, a motion which caused the girl in his arms to open her eyes and turn to him sleepily.

"Trouble sleeping?" Luna murmured quietly. "Something wrong?"

"Just thinking. About the week and some of the things that happened," the boy answered, hugging her tightly to him.

"Your talk with Professor Lockhart?" she asked drowsily, nuzzling his chin.

"…well, that too," Shinji admitted, given that in showing Lockhart the Hidden Blade in his possession, he had as much as admitted that he knew of the Assassin's identity, though it had seemed as if the man had expected this, and had just been waiting for him to reveal his possession of the item. Of course, before agreeing to train him, Lockhart had decided some…assessment was in order.

Shinji had agreed, and had been sent into battle against a Pansy who was clad in robes much like those of the Stone Cutters and wielded twin daggers crafted from Acromantulae fangs and ebony. He had held back, thinking that he wouldn't need to exert himself too much against someone his own age, especially someone who was only using daggers - until he'd discovered that her daggers were _dagger-wands,_ with cores crafted from the crystallized blood of a Karkadann, an ancient and powerful beast whose name translated to 'Lord of the Desert'.

At that point, he'd stepped up his game, diverting prana into the enchanted clothing he wore to boost his speed and strength, and using ofuda to set traps upon the ground – only to find that Pansy began to avoid the ground, with her rapidly conjuring platforms of runes beneath her feet so she could change direction in midair.

' _What on earth?'_

In the end, Shinji had been able to defeat her by telescoping his staff and catching her off guard, though it had been much closer than he would have liked, with Pansy commenting that Shinji seemed to move about much less than Luna – which he supposed had some merit, since his Earth-elemental training emphasized patience and stillness.

Still, patience had been enough against Lockhart's apprentice – but not against the Assassin himself, who had defeated him handily, even though Shinji had taken full advantage of the speed and strength of fusion, without holding back.

It was the power that had let him survive Zouken's onslaught, which had let him nearly defeat Tomas, the power which had saved his life over and over – and yet against Lockhart, he found that his power was of little use. Try as he might, using every ounce of his speed and power, Shinji had not been able to land a single hit on the man, with Lockhart either turning the blade of his scythe with impossibly solid daggers, or simply not being where Shinji expected as he launched his techniques.

Occasionally, the man disappeared from his vision – and Shinji _could not detect him at all,_ even with _Zelkova's power._

And in the end, Lockhart had finished things by pinning his feet to the ground with knives covered with runes – knives he couldn't just transmute to dirt – and hurling a jet black dirk towards him with what had to have been supersonic speed as the boy was torn from the ground by the force of impact, the dagger piercing the stony skin of his fusion form and letting out a powerful magical charge that made him scream, as everything went black.

Of course, when he opened his eyes, Matou Shinji had found that there was no dagger in his chest, no knives in his feet, and that not only was he uninjured – he hadn't moved from where he had been standing when the match with Lockhart began.

"Passable. You have potential, and skill in many areas, but you have yet to combine all of that into one effective fighting style."

"Yes, Professor."

"Fear not, Matou, I will make you an apprentice worthy of the blade you carry yet," the man had said. "While you are at Durmstrang, spar with my other apprentice – she could use the experience, and I doubt she would mind the opportunity for more training. And when you next return, our lessons will begin…"

"Um, sir?" Shinji had asked. "What happened in our match? That is…how come I wasn't…"

"Injured?" Lockhart had inquired. "Tell me, is that the one question you wish to know, Matou Shinji?"

"Uh…no, Master," Shinji had answered with a bow.

"Mentor," the man had corrected at once. "Not Master, but Mentor, if you will. Call it one of my idiosyncrasies if you will."

"As you will, Mentor."

* * *

"It's just…there's a lot going on," Shinji whispered, shaking his head. "My new apprenticeship with Professor Lockhart, Potions training, the mess in Durmstrang. Every year before now, I've been pretty confident that things would turn out ok. But this year…I don't know."

"Mm?"

"Things are getting harder. And I can't help but feel that no matter what happens, by the end of this year, everything is going to change. Somehow. Whether I want it to or not. Fred and Harry are growing more distant. Hillard's dead. Tohsaka – well, you know what happened with her. And with things as they are in Britain, well…I don't know if I'll be welcome here much longer. Not if I keep trying to do what's right. I don't…"

"Know this," Luna murmured, as she leaned up and kissed him tenderly. "Whatever happens, I will stand by your side, till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old. Where you go, I will follow. Where you walk, so I will do."

"Even if it means everything else behind?" he whispered against her lips. "Because…"

"I have Dad, and I have you. To me, nothing else really matters," Luna replied. "You showed me kindness, in a world that was always cruel, warmth in a world that was cold. You showed me how vast the world was – you believed me. So trust yourself and the choices you make, and know that I trust you."

"…thank you, Luna." Hearing the petite blonde's statement of faith helped to settle him, as despite his power, it was she who kept him sane and walking the right path – kept him from doubting himself overmuch, let him know that even if the world was his enemy, she would be his ally.

' _As I would be Sion's…'_ he thought, with a twinge of guilt. _'Though, Sokaris did want to meet her, so maybe…'_

Maybe somehow, it would all work out.

* * *

That night, Shinji dreamed, and in his dream he found himself in fusion form leading an army of goblins, with Luna and Pansy standing by his sides, and Tohsaka and Mashu flanking him. He dreamed of war, of death, of slaughter – of confronting evil-shaped forms, howling beasts of shadow and flame, and a horde of soulless, red-eyed enemies as numerous as the stars in the sky.

In his dreams, he fought in Diagon Alley and in Hogsmeade, before his manor and in the ruins of Fuyuki, facing down an implacable foe wielding a wand and an ancient goblin-forged blade…before a giant serpent reared its head and friend and foe alike were turned to stone.


	31. Leaks and Rumors

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 31.** _Leaks and Rumors_

In the luxurious bed in his London manor, Matou Shinji stirred from slumber, as visions of things that were not yet and might never be faded away, the light of the morning sun pulling him not altogether willingly towards consciousness. He shivered as he recalled the last moments of his dreams – of the dream of war from last night, and the other dreams from the nights before.

In those dreams too, he had worn his Stone Cutter robes, but instead of being engaged in combat, he'd found himself walking into an ancient temple of black stone, with the sigil of the All-Seeing Eye emblazoned above the entryway and great statues of masked and hooded warriors looming over him as he passed. There had been six of the grand figures, twice the size of a normal man, and from each of them, a bold pressure had emanated.

' _Turn back,'_ they'd seemed to say. _'Or you will surely die.'_

Yet in the dream, Matou Shinji had shrugged off their warnings, as there was something he'd sought deep within the Temple's heart – something for which he'd give his very life. At the time, he'd been unsure of what it was, why he continued, only that there was a need that drove him onward.

And so he'd pressed on, despite the risks, despite the certainty of his demise, in search of…a friend? An opponent? A comrade-in-arms? He didn't quite remember, only that it was somehow...familiar, and that it, like him, was sworn to oppose the end.

Once he'd stepped into the temple, the world had fallen away, his senses rendered useless as light, sound, scent, touch, and taste vanished entirely, leaving him alone in the darkness, alone with every evils that had ever lurked in his imagination, every uncertainty he'd ever harbored in his heart, every fear and doubt and creeping terror. In the face of the sudden onslaught, the boy had been nearly paralyzed, yet with all the effort he could muster, he'd managed to put one foot in front of the other.

Again, and again, and again.

An endless repetition of actions, with nothing to let him know how long he'd been walking, how long he'd been striving, whether it had been minutes, hours, days, weeks…or longer. Yet he'd pressed on through faith, until at last he reached his destination, and the darkness had been banished by the blood red stone that lay the temple's heart, as the design inscribed upon his upper arm _burned._

As it burned this morning as Matou Shinji found himself squeezing the girl in his arms tight against him, opening his eyes to find his grey looking into silver.

"Hey," the boy whispered, as the closeness and warmth of Luna Lovegood helped to ease the tension in his form, her presence in the here and now being a great comfort after the dreams of portents and symbols he'd been having all week.

"Morning," Luna murmured drowsily, snuggling against the boy she loved. With a sigh, she tilted her head upwards and kissed the tip of his nose. "Bad dreams again?"

"You could say that," Shinji replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. "Sorry – I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Mm, no, I've been awake for a while," the petite blonde answered quietly. "It's Monday, after all. And on Mondays, I'm used to waking early, so I have time to train and read before classes."

"Ah, right…classes," the boy recalled with some disgruntlement, making the word sound almost like a curse as he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I'd almost forgotten about those…"

"We can't all have a champion's privileges," Luna chided him softly, as she studied his features. "Even if I'm thankful that you do."

"Heh…" Shinji only grunted, as his lover's words reminded him of the responsibilities that came with his privileges. "Well, I guess once you go to class, I should probably head back to Durmstrang, huh? Since I've been away for a week, and all."

"Mm, probably," the girl replied, brushing his cheek with the tips of her delicate fingers. "People at Hogwarts – even some of the Ourea – are beginning to wonder why they never see you with me if you're at the school, when they used to see us together all the time. And why I'm not bothered by it."

"…right. You're the only one who knows that I actually spend most of my time at _Mahoutokoro_ – and it's not as if they know we spend our weekends together _,_ " Shinji noted, frowning. "I'd thought that with my exemption from classes as Champion, people wouldn't ask too many questions about why I wasn't making many public appearances." He sighed, shaking his head. "I guess I didn't take into account that they'd ask about us, huh?"

"They're curious because of the articles in the _Daily Prophet_ ," Luna pointed out, to which Shinji just made a face.

"Oh. _Those_ ," the boy said without much enthusiasm. "What, they think I was seduced by a Veela or something, and that's why we're not spending time together?"

"Some of them," Luna admitted. "I don't really care what they think though, since I know the truth."

"…you may not, but I do," Shinji growled. But then the annoyance on his features faded, as a sly expression took its place. "Well then, Miss Lovegood, would you care to join me for breakfast in the Great Hall today?"

"Mm, are you sure you wouldn't rather have breakfast at home?" the petite blonde inquired, raising both eyebrows. "It's more…peaceful."

Under normal circumstances, both of them would indeed prefer the intimacy of a quiet meal together, with the freedom to discuss anything under the sun, as opposed to dealing with the attention of the masses and the constraints and expectations of civilized society.

"It is," Shinji conceded, shaking his head. "And if it was just up to me that would be my choice, because it means more time with you. But I want to stop the rumors before they get out of hand. Not just for my sake, but for yours. I remember how they used to talk about you. I don't want that to start again."

"Mm," Luna murmured, as she leaned close and captured his lips with hers, and for a time thereafter, the worries and travails of the world fell away.

* * *

After the events that followed, a brief talk with Mashu regarding the need to have a conversation with Tohsaka, and a rather scandalous breakfast at Hogwarts which involved Matou Shinji snogging Luna Lovegood senseless in front of the Great Hall (the aftereffects of which included a rather testy acting-Headmistress McGonagall, a stunned silence from the students, and a hopeful end to the rumors about him being seduced by a veela and losing interest in his fellow Ravenclaw), the boy finally made his way to the room where the Vanishing Cabinet link to Durmstrang had been set up, with a decided spring in his step, a smirk on his lips, and a trunk full of Potions ingredients and books wobbling behind him as it floated through the air.

There, he was met with a team of Aurors tasked with ensuring there was no unauthorized use of the international connection, who quickly ran him through a number of routine security procedures. These included being made to drink an antidote for Polyjuice Potion, a cursory inspection of his person and trunk to ensure he was not carrying any contraband (given that they assumed he'd been limited to Hogwarts, it wasn't especially thorough), and registering his wand – the hazel and coral one – for future reference.

Matou Shinji didn't expect trouble, and frankly, he didn't get any, since whatever his recent failings, the boy _was_ known as both the Potions Champion of Hogwarts and a personal friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, and in any society it was generally a bad thing to antagonize people with powerful connections. So, without much fuss, he was cleared for travel, and with a breath of relief, he passed through to the other side.

* * *

Upon exiting the Cabinet room into Durmstrang proper, however, Matou Shinji was met with a familiar figure, as Pansy Parkinson had apparently been waiting for him.

"So the illusive one returns," the intern for the _Daily Prophet_ noted dryly, straightening from where she'd been leaning against the wall. "Took you long enough, Matou." She gave him a once over before shaking her head and turning towards the direction of Raven's Keep. "Come, let me give you an escort to your quarters."

"I hardly think I need an escort, Pansy," Shinji protested mildly, but fell into step beside the girl as they began walking anyway, given that they were headed in the same direction. "I'm perfectly capable of defending myself."

"That's exactlywhat Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum once thought as well. The rest, as they say, is history," Pansy remarked, shaking her head.

"Granted," the boy acknowledged. "Still, given that its morning, most people are likely in class at this time. I daresay there isn't much of a chance someone might be lurking in the shadows."

"Well, if that's how you feel, then instead of me escorting you, consider it you escorting me," the girl suggested, to which Shinji raised an eyebrow.

"Me escorting you?" the Japanese boy inquired. "Whatever for?"

"Of course," the Assassin's apprentice quipped, turning up her nose. "It _is_ poor form to keep a lady waiting, after all, and you kept me waiting for several days. I thought you'd be back much sooner than this."

"Kept you waiting, did I?" Shinji remarked. "My comings and goings aren't really your business, are they, Pansy? Even if we share a…mentor." The boy shook his head. "Besides, you could have been waiting a long time, since my only real responsibility as Champion is to train for the Potions Competition."

"That may be so," Pansy conceded. "Still, you're usually more considerate of a woman's feelings than that, and since you volunteered to be Miss Delacour's bodyguard out of the goodness of your heart, I was sure you'd return, given that otherwise people might take your words as an empty declaration. Worse, they might think that after leaving Durmstrang – and thus escaping from Miss Delacour's clutches and aura, you finally returned to your senses, and that's why you've spent so much time away."

"…are people actually saying that?" the boy asked, aghast to think that, even here, the rumor mill would read so much into his actions, suggesting that his prolonged absence was a pointed statement that his gesture of solidarity towards another Champion had not been of his own will. "I'm a _Potions_ Champion. I'm supposed to spend time at my home school to train for the competition."

"Yes, you know that, and I know that, but both of us also know that the truth isn't what people care about," the brunette reminded him, as Shinji grimaced. "They care about whether what they see reinforces what they already believe – or want to believe."

"…that's true."

"And with you volunteering to be Miss Delacour's bodyguard, or George Weasley declaring that he stood not with the Hogwarts students who had died in the attack, but with his fellow Champions, people – especially people who are already afraid – come to their own conclusions."

"Hence the foreign influence speculation in the _Daily Prophet_?" Shinji inquired wryly.

"Hence the speculation about foreign influence in the _Daily_ _Prophet_ ," Pansy confirmed, shaking her head. "I only report the facts. Sadly, the people at the home office are under no such scruples. They're much more concerned about making their 'daily profits' than in anything resembling the truth."

"Daily pro…" Shinji trailed off, cringing at the horrible pun. "Pansy, really?"

"Sorry," the girl said in a saccharine-sweet tone that implied she was nothing of the sort. "Had to get you back for beating me, after all. And while you were holding back too," she remarked. "You're always holding back, underestimating me – underestimating most of us, really. I saw you fight our mentor, after all, and you didn't hold back with him."

"Would you prefer I didn't?" the Potions Champion inquired mildly. "You're better than most of our peers, but compared to…" He trailed off, not sure how much he should say.

"You can say it, you know. Compared to Lovegood, I still have a long way to go," Pansy replied wryly.

"She did tell me you were one of her training partners, along with Malfoy," Shinji noted, recalling a conversation he'd had. "But that you weren't so good with healing."

"…that's putting it mildly, but yes," the Slytherin admitted. "She said I was...like you in that regard?"

"Yes. Sadly," the boy noted, shaking his head. "Of the Stone Cutters, Luna is probably the best of us at healing. I'm probably the worst."

"Oh, and what are you good at?"

"I don't suppose you'd accept an answer of 'killing things?'" Shinji inquired, with Pansy chuckling at his reply. "If we're alike in that way, then the fact that you're Lockhart's apprentice is quite…"

"Ominous?"

"No. Fitting," Shinji replied with a half-smile. "You know, I remember what you said to me last year, before the first game of Capture the Flag. You wanted power – power enough to live your own life without being beholden to anyone else. I hope in the time since then, you've been happy with your choice?"

"Mm. I have," the Assassin's apprentice answered. "You know, I never did thank you for that."

"For what?"

"You know what. You were the one who recommended me to Lockhart, weren't you?" Pansy questioned, with Shinji nodding sheepishly. "Well, thanks. Speaking of Capture the Flag though…"

"Yes?"

"I didn't want to bother you too much, since I know you have other things on your mind, but with what happened, there's been a lot of tension here at Durmstrang, mostly between the Hogwarts contingent and those of the other schools."

Shinji frowned.

"Any particular reasons, aside from them blaming Krum and Delacour for what happened?"

"Well, many are upset over the open teaching of the Dark Arts," Pansy replied. "With others unhappy about the strict discipline and how there are no house elves here to cook, clean, do the laundry or tending the grounds," the girl related. "They think it's beneath them as witches and wizards. So do some of the people from Beauxbatons."

"Well, don't expect me to have any sympathy for them," the Japanese boy responded. "Back in my country, cleaning the school and tending the grounds each day _was_ what students did, magical or mundane, from the time they're young. It was a shock to me _not_ to have to clean at Hogwarts."

"Be that as it may, people aren't comfortable here at what is basically a military school," Pansy continued. "The fact that the sun doesn't rise here, so it's always night, that it's cold as Merlin's backside, and that there's no Hogsmeade, Quidditch, or anything else for people to look forward to except the Tri-Wizard Tournament isn't making people very happy either. There have already been a few…altercations."

"Altercations?"

"People refusing to obey the authorities, or provoking confrontations with Durmstrang students. It hasn't ended well, though thankfully no one has been hospitalized yet."

Shinji let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Do you have any suggestions on dealing with this?" he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. "You've been here a few days longer than I have, and I assume you wouldn't have brought this up if you didn't have any ideas."

Pansy surprised him by chuckling, a sound he didn't expect given the seriousness of the situation.

"What?"

"It's funny, because you already mentioned it yourself, Matou. Capture the Flag," the girl admitted with amusement. "Something to let the students bleed off their aggression in a controlled way, forcing them to see each other as individuals – to work together – if they want to have chance of success. Maybe with interested people signing up and being put into teams by a coordinator."

The two were silent for a few moments after, as Shinji mulled over the idea, before eventually nodding.

"I guess that _could_ work, but how would we go about implementing it?" he questioned. "We – the Ourea – don't really have much power at Durmstrang, and I'd rather not get more of us in trouble through some misunderstanding, or appear to be organizing my own faction here."

"Well, why don't you take the idea to the Raven Commander?" Pansy suggested. "I think it's important we go through official channels rather than doing this ourselves, since we need to show that we don't have issues with how Durmstrang is run." The girl shrugged. "I'm sure he'll probably want to see you when you get to the keep anyway, just to see how things have been, and as one of the Champions, you might have a bit more sway than I."

"Fair enough. Hopefully he'll be willing to bring up the idea with the other Banner Commanders," Shinji concluded.

"That's what I was thinking," the Slytherin remarked. "Though I imagine that with the Banner system being the way it is, one coordinator wouldn't be enough. You'd need one for each, given that I doubt there will be inter-Banner teams. Too high a risk of spies." She smiled slightly. "Thanks."

"For what."

"For listening. A lot of guys wouldn't, you know?"

"Heh, well I'm not them, you know," Shinji replied indulgently, with Pansy sighing, as she shook her head.

"No…you're not," she murmured, her expression almost distant as she glanced over at the boy beside her. "You're you."

The rest of the walk was spent in silence, with the two arriving at the entrance to Raven's Keep before too much longer, much to the surprise of a number of those inside, some of which had wondered if the Potions Champion would return at all.

Amusingly, there were a few Hogwarts students who walked up to Pansy with disgruntled looks on their faces, each handing the Slytherin what sounded a small pouch full of coins.

"They didn't think you'd be back, and were willing to put a good deal of coin on it," Pansy remarked saucily. "Nice odds too. I thought it only fair that someone who believed in you should benefit from their lack of faith."

"And if I hadn't come back…?"

"…that's neither here nor there, since you did," the girl replied evenly, clearly unwilling to say anything further, though it was obvious to him that she'd put herself out there for him – when he'd never asked it of her, a fact that warmed him considerably.

"Thanks…Pansy," he said quietly, a hint of red touching his cheeks. "You didn't have to, you know."

"I didn't, but I wanted to. Because I know you're a better person than they think. And a better one than I think you let yourself believe."

* * *

As he descended into the lower reaches of Raven's Keep, he encountered a surprised Fleur Delacour, who seemed _grateful_ when he greeted her with a bow and a smile, declaring that he would be ready to accompany her about the grounds once more – or whatever else she wished of him – after he unpacked and checked in with the Raven Commander.

' _She didn't think I was going to come back, did she?'_ he realized, which frankly bothered him, since Matou Shinji wasn't a boy who gave his word lightly. But then, the Beauxbatons Champion had no reason to know that, and every reason to distrust someone from Hogwarts, since she'd been exposed to the ugly reality that there were people here who wanted to see her dead, not because of anything she'd done – or hadn't done – but just because of who she was. _'I guess she has her reasons. And that the reputation I've built up will only carry me so far…'_

Unpacking didn't take too much time, since he hadn't brought too much back with him, though apparently, he'd been distracted enough during the week that he'd accidentally tucked a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ – the one which chronicled the fate of the Hufflepuffs – into his trunk, with the extremely cursory contraband examination having overlooked it, since it had been buried among a number of books, parchments, _ofuda_ and scrolls.

' _Maybe Andreas would want to see this,_ ' Shinji mused, as he tucked the paper under his arm and exited his chambers, moving to the staircase that would let him reach the Commander's office. Before he reached the door though, it was opened by Rachelle Sondrol, the statuesque redhead who served as the Lieutenant of the Banner of Ravens.

"Come in, Champion Matou," the Lieutenant said in a husky contralto, as her eyes glanced over him and came to rest on the newspaper he carried. "Andreas and I were in the middle of some business, but I'm sure it can wait. Would you like something to drink?"

"Tea will be fine."

"Any particular type?"

"Earl Grey. Hot," Shinji requested, with Rachelle Sondrol nodding as she disappeared behind the door, with Shinji following her into the Raven Commander's office, where he was struck breathless at the luxury of it compared to the rest of the building. He'd expected a small, cramped room, like what professors enjoyed at Hogwarts, but this was a spacious, elegantly-appointed chamber with stunning 360 degree views of the grounds below, with the ribbons of light that made up the aurora borealis dancing in the sky.

"Quite a place, isn't it?" Andreas Tørnquist asked as the tall, soft-spoken Dane rose from his desk. "It's my privilege to work here, handling administrative affairs, discipline, and such for the Banner of Ravens."

"…do all Commanders get something like this?" Shinji wondered aloud, with Rachelle Sondrol chuckling at his query.

"Sylvana, from the Banner of Wolves, has a setup like this in Wolf Tower," the redhead noted as she handed him a cup of fragrant Earl Grey tea, which Shinji gratefully accepted. "Serpent's Refuge being what it is, Radu's is rather less luxurious, but more secure."

"Secure?" Shinji echoed, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Much of the Refuge is underground," Rachelle explained easily, as the trio moved to a set of couches by the window, with Andreas removing what looked like a pie from an icebox, and setting it on top of a lit brazier. "The higher ranked you are in that Banner, the lower your quarters, with the Commander's office being deep underground. Consequently, the space atop the Refuge is used for guest quarters. I imagine that the Hogwarts Tri-wizard Champion is being housed in one of them, as is your friend, Mister Potter."

Shinji couldn't help but feel a bit envious of Harry and George in that moment, when he considered the view that his friends no doubt enjoyed, compared to his utter lack thereof.

"My good Lieutenant would know – she's been in every one of the Banners," Andreas added with a smile. "Of course, in the end, she chose to join mine, which I guess goes to show which one our Champion decided was best."

"Which one had no interest in forcing me to become a Commander, you mean," Lieutenant Sondrol corrected. "I prefer being on the field and among the people, rather than dealing with the administrative affairs and inter-Banner politics, as a Commander would have to."

"Indeed. Hence the offer I made you, as I knew it would benefit our Banner in the end," Andreas chimed in. "In the end, you claimed the title of Potions Champion, but that of Commander was a decent enough consolation prize for me."

"Few would call it _that_ , Andreas," Lieutenant Sondrol noted wryly. "Would you like some Leipäjuusto, Champion Matou?" she asked, indicating what looked like a pie on the table between them. "Or perhaps some cloudberries?"

"Leipäjuusto?" Shinji echoed.

"Fresh cheese, made from the rich milk from a cow that has recently calved," Andreas supplied. "A Finnish delicacy – really quite good." As he spoke, Shinji could smell the appetizing aroma coming off of the slowly warming disk, and so the Japanese boy set down his copy of the _Prophet_ on the table.

"I think I will," the boy said, feeling quite at ease as the two served him a plate of the cheese to go with his tea, a slice about three centimeters thick, with distinctive charred marks on its surface. "How is this made anyway?"

"Well, you curdle the milk, set it in a disk, and then bake, grill or flambé it, before drying. It's good for a few years after that, so it's useful for me to keep here," Andreas noted. "One of the compensations for the hard work of those in power."

"Power has its perks," Shinji acknowledged.

"Yes, but a true leader wields power only for the benefit of those with far less," Andreas replied. "Otherwise, there's not much point to the setup, is there?"

"I suppose not," Shinji said, frowning. "I guess over at Durmstrang, you have the chance to think about the ways of power more than we do at Hogwarts, eh?"

And so it was the trio set to talking about how things had been in his absence, with the Potions Champion of Hogwarts learning that there had been an utter lack of news from Britain regarding the fate of the Hufflepuffs who attacked Fleur and Viktor, something that the students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons were none too pleased with, as they wanted to see justice done. As well, there had been a number of odd and somewhat unsavoury rumors springing up about some of the Champions.

"I think I've heard the ones about me, but what about the others?" Shinji asked, half-curious, and half-disgusted by the notion that people would speak about their Champions so.

"The subject of most of them is Miss Delacour, actually," Rachelle Sondrol related with a frown. "Apparently, our part-Veela is a conniving seductress who has been going around to the various Banners to take advantage of unwitting men and steal their magic and will."

"Which is rather absurd, honestly, given that she spends most of her time in Raven Tower, or with Rachelle Lestrange, and the latter isn't the type to go around and flirt with strange men," Andreas added. "Personally, I think the rumors were started by some of the British delegation who are unhappy with Delacour receiving no punishment for killing many of the students who ambushed her, and driving others mad. The matter of your Tri-Wizard Tournament, however, is a more interesting case."

"Interesting?" Shinji repeated, curious what they had to say about George. "What do you mean by that?"

"Only that he hasn't been seen outside of Wolf's Tower at all since he was selected as Champion," Rachelle Sondrol noted. "It is decidedly odd to have such a...reclusive Champion, though given his disagreement with the rest of his delegation, maybe he just wants to be left alone and not be bothered by ill-mannered louts."

"Perhaps," Shinji said, though his heart wasn't in it. "I suspect there's something else going on, but I wouldn't have the first clue how to begin unravelling it."

"Well, speaking of thing going on, how are things at Hogwarts?" Andreas asked casually. "Given that you spent about a week there, I'm sure you were busy practicing your brewing, but did you hear what happened with the Hufflepuffs?"

"I did, actually," Shinji admitted, sliding the older boy the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ he'd laid down. "Here, see for yourself."

The Raven Lord raised an eyebrow at the offer, but took the newspaper, anyway, his lips curving into a frown as he saw the cover story, with the announcement that the heroes who had taken it upon themselves to confront the treacherous Butcher of Bulgaria and his Veela whore had been released into British custody - where the Court had dismissed the charges against them.

"I've heard of miscarriages of justice," Shinji heard the man growl, "but…"

As Andreas – and his Lieutenant – kept reading, their expressions seemed to grow more and more dour as they learned how the culprits of the whole rigmarole had been offered places in the army, with the - with the leader, whose mind had been destroyed, receiving some manner of medal for his personal sacrifice.

"Now I understand why Britain hasn't shared anything about the investigation or the proceedings thereafter with the Norwegian Ministry," the Raven Lord muttered, shaking his head. "It never intended to bring the perpetrators to justice at all. This is a travesty. If the other schools knew about this…" The Dane cut himself off and forced himself to take a deep breath. "...a word of advice, Matou," the Raven Lord noted, folding the newspaper and making a quick duplicate of it. "Be careful about sharing this with anyone else. If information were to get out to the student body – or worse – to the international press, I fear that many of those from Hogwarts might get scapegoated for the actions of your Ministry."

"…I hadn't thought about that," Shinji admitted. "I just thought you would want to know."

"And we appreciate that," Rachelle Sondrol noted graciously. "But sensitive information like this needs to be handled…with caution, or else it could be very dangerous for all parties involved. Even if a newspaper wouldn't ordinarily be considered such, it might be when a nation prepares for war."

"I see," the Japanese boy said, looking down.

"Unfortunately, I will have to share this tidbit with the Headmaster and through him, the Norwegian Ministry, as they wish to know what happened," Andreas noted apologetically. "I do have two questions for you, however."

"Yes?"

"First, would you like me to identify you to the Norwegian Ministry as the informant?" the Raven Lord inquired. "It would probably mean they would be more kindly disposed to you, but has its share of risks."

"That's fine with me," Shinji replied.

"Then my second question," Andreas continued. "Since you have free access to Britain, would you be willing to bring back more information of this sort in return for some considerations?" He held up a hand to cut off possible protests. "We're not asking for anything confidential, mind you, just what is common knowledge at Hogwarts or Britain. More copies of the _Prophet,_ for example."

"That…" Shinji began, but paused, as some of their earlier words sank in. "That I'll need to think about, if that's alright with you."

That…and he wanted to talk with someone like Lockhart before he made any commitments of this sort. Bringing over the _Prophet_ from Britain unknowingly was one thing. Intentionally doing it, and possibly being discovered, given the restrictions on information…that was something else, and needed to be weighed carefully.

"Frankly, I expected as much," the Raven Commander noted. "By all means, please do so." The Dane shook his head, as if to clear it. "While you're here though, was there something else you wanted to bring up?"

"…actually there is," the Potions Champion of Hogwarts interjected.

He explained to them the tensions Pansy had observed in the student population, and brought up the possibility of having something like Capture the Flag to help defuse the situation, since if people could vent their frustration in one way, they were less likely to do so in another – potentially more destructive – manner.

"That seems like an interesting idea," the Raven Lieutenant observed. "Group combat scenarios are certainly not unheard of, and in normal years, we do indeed have wargames."

"I rather concur, though it would be wise to make sure there are a few restrictions on who participates," Andreas agreed. "For one, Champions should probably be barred from this, given that it would be somewhat unfair for the other participants, and there is risk enough to them in their respective Tournaments as is. With Champions already being targeted, I do not want to run the risk of a Champion being injured or killed on my watch. Commanders should likewise be barred, given our responsibilities and the issues it would cause if one were permanently incapacitated."

"Indeed. I might be forced to take Andreas' spot, and that would be rather terrible," Rachelle Sondrol noted, with a glance at her putative superior.

"Aside from that," the Commander continued after a beat, "I think the randomized team assignments will work well, since it will force individuals from Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons to work together."

"That sounds reasonable," Shinji noted. "At Hogwarts, people could choose their teams, but I'm not sure that would work here. I would rather not see one school pitted against another in the long run."

"Good that you agree. It is within my power to make the arrangements for this to be an activity of the Banner of Ravens, though for wider consideration, I will have to bring this before the Council of the Host," the Raven Lord noted. "Who knows, if they accept, we might have the opportunity to host an all-school Championship towards the end of the year, with say, the best four teams from each Banner qualifying."

"I don't think there's much of a chance the Wolf and Serpent Lords will reject the proposal," Rachelle Sondrol commented. "My concern, however, is the need for a coordinator in each Banner to organize all of this, keeping track of membership, league rankings and such. The duties involved are likely too time-consuming to ask of a Commander or a Lieutenant to take them on, or even a year captain, at that. Do you have any suggestions for handling this, Matou?"

"Just put out an open call for a coordinator, and test the applicants for leadership abilities through mock scenarios," Shinji offered. "I imagine you might get a few volunteers."

"Hopefully not just those interested in the perks of office," Andreas sighed. "There are always far too many of those, especially among those who have never served, and have never been tested."

The meeting ran on for some time, covering a good range of topics, before Shinji recalled that Fleur was likely waiting on him, and so took his leave, though he couldn't decide whether he was amused or irritated by the way the Raven Commanders and Lieutenant shared a knowing glance as he departed.

* * *

' _How do I get myself into these situations?'_ Shinji found himself wondering that night, as boy from the east found himself setting up a barrier with his _ofuda_ , sealing off the hot springs intended for the use of Champion in Raven's Keep from the world outside, while Fleur Delacour and Rachelle Lestrange, their bodies hidden by the water, watched him curiously. He rather hoped that the presence of the Beauxbatons Potions Champion would keep any possible speculation about him joining Miss Delacour in the hot springs to a minimum, but knew better than to expect it would.

Truth be told, he had only invited the Etoile Noire of Beauxbatons as the petite blonde seemed to be able to keep Fleur reasonably calm, and Shinji expected he'd need her influence to keep Fleur from exploding before the night was done.

After his conversation with the Commander, Shinji had made his way back to the quarters for dignitaries, where Fleur had cornered him. Politely, to be true, but she cornered nonetheless, asking him a number of questions about how things were at Hogwarts, questions about news, currents events, and other such, skirting what she was most interested in, until she hit upon the topic of the Hufflepuffs that had attacked her, and what had become of them.

The boy had sighed inwardly when she asked about what he feared she would. Since he had informed someone else, it would be right to tell Fleur, since she had a very personal reason for wanting to know. On the other hand, Andreas' warning about exercising caution in sharing what he knew rang clear in his head, and given his upbringing in a magus family, and his belief that knowledge is power, he was (justifiably) concerned that if he told her, the information might leak.

He wasn't worried about her intentionally or maliciously spreading it, but even he was influenced by gossip, and so he knew Veela are creatures of passion and fire. Thus, Matou Shinji had told Fleur that while he would be willing to speak further of the matter, he wanted somewhere more private – somewhere he could be sure was secure.

At the time, the best option in his mind had been the hot springs, as he thought making Fleur comfortable might keep her from reacting too badly. And of course...

"Perhaps Miss Lestrange should be present at this meeting as well," Shinji had suggested. "Since she is also involved with making sure you are safe here, and I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable being alone with me."

Fleur had agreed to this, since the boy's words _seemed_ reasonable, though privately, the part-Veela thought the boy just wanted to spend more time with the Etoile Noire of Beauxbatons, as it was rather painfully obvious that he was attracted to the petite Alchemist. After all, otherwise, it would be a simple matter to just tell her, perhaps on a walk about the grounds or some such while he was actually fulfilling his duty as a bodyguard.

But Rachelle Lestrange had thought there might be more to it than that when the two had approached her.

"Non, 'e 'as a point," Rachelle had said, her silver eyes considering. "Zere are people at Durmstrang with odd powers. Unless you seal an area, it is 'ard to ensure there are no…eavesdroppers. Very well, Monsieur Matou."

Which brought them to the present situation, where Shinji was putting up protections from prying eyes and ears, after Rachelle had already emplaced certain runes, which allegedly warded an area against intrusion from other entities.

' _I wonder how skilled she is – if she can make barriers this quickly, she must be quite good with Runes, but how skilled?'_

Once he was satisfied with what defenses he'd erected, Matou Shinji slipped into the water on the side of the pool opposite from the two Beauxbatons Champions. Steeling himself for the likely reaction, he explained what he learned about the Hufflepuffs, holding back nothing – not that those who survived were to be honored, not that they had been offered places in the army, and not the curious case of the Hufflepuff leader and the mind-affecting curse that had led to his undoing.

But Fleur, contrary to his expectations, did not explode, though that was perhaps due to the presence of Rachelle Lestrange, a look from which had calmed the Veela a few times during Shinji's retelling.

"Whoever saved us must have cursed him..." Fleur whispered when she spoke at last, a look of horror on her delicate features. "Merde. I vould not vish such a zing on my vorst enemy..." She shook her head. "I still vish to lodge a formal protest with Madame Maxine but…"

"She von't," the Etoile Noire interjected as she glanced over at Shinji, with the boy's mouth going dry as he took note of her silver eyes. "Officially, you shouldn't know any of zis, Fleur, and I vould not want to risk a diplomatic incident or endanger Monsieur Matou's life."

"My…life?" Shinji repeated, feeling a little off-balance with how the topic had so suddenly changed.

"Oui," Rachelle Lestrange confirmed, her gaze somewhat speculative. "If some attacked Fleur for being a veela, 'ow do you zink zey would react to someone who not only defends her, but betrays 'Ogwarts by telling its enemies vat zey should not know and caused ze country embarrassment."

Despite the warmth of the waters in which he was immersed, Shinji felt a chill go down his spine. It was becoming quite clear to him that there were a number of things he had not considered when engaging in this enterprise. As well, it was a pointed reminder that no matter how different he was from most of his peers, there was those far more bloody-minded.

"…I guess that's true," Shinji noted weakly. He hadn't really thought about it that angle, really.

"Merde. It really is too bad zey did not attack me instead," the petite blonde who looked so much like Luna but wasn't her murmured with a beatific smile. "Zey vould have known only the peace of death zen, and all zese complications would be… _nonexistent._ "

Fleur swallowed as she heard her countrywoman speak, as she was deeply uncomfortable with all of this talk of killing, madness, and injustice.

True, she was irritated – enraged, even – that her attackers would not be punished at all, but would be honored and given _commissions_ in the British army. She was grateful that Matou Shinji had gone out of his way – was taking such risks – to tell her the truth, especially in light of what Rachelle mentioned could be the consequences to him if the information got out and could be linked to him. But perhaps of all, she was disturbed, not just by how easily the Etoile Noire spoke of ending lives, but also by the thought that her rescuer had also casually destroyed the mind of at least one of her attackers, and contemptuously defeated the rest.

Which meant it probably _hadn't_ been one of the Commanders and their staff, given that none of them would have gone so far, would have used fear itself as a weapon.

"I don't know vat to think," the part-Veela finally admitted, shaking her head, frustrated and confused and not knowing what to do with what she knew. "I am angry. Angry beyond vords. Vy? Vy did zey do it? I don't…mais...zey don't deserve vat happened to zem either. Even now - I don't want to have killed them. I just vish zey would have left me alone. If zey had just left me alone…"

Fleur trailed off, sinking deep into the water, with just nose and eyes staying above, with Rachelle Lestrange sighing as she moved to pat her countrywoman's head.

"Vile I am not as conflicted as Fleur about ze fate of ze dead, I am curious about ze spell that was used on the leader of the attackers," Rachelle commented, her silver eyes meeting Shinji's grey, stirring something in him. "Of ze spells I know, trapping someone in an illusionary vorld born of zeir vorst memories is not one of zem. Nor do I zink is such a zing taught at Durmstrang. But vat of you, Champion Matou? Do you know of such a zing?"

Shinji opened his mouth to say that he didn't know of such a thing – but then he remembered that there was something that might be able to cause such an effect: a satori's ability to see and manipulate the patterns of the world and the minds of those they interacted with. Of course, Lockhart's special technique was capable of such a thing as well, but as careless as he could be, even the boy from the east knew better than to talk about what a master Assassin might be up to, or to assume one had been involved, given how many had survived.

' _George…was this…your doing?'_ Shinji wondered silently, his eyes narrowing in thought. He supposed it was...possible, actually, since the Stone Cutter would have had a reason for being in the Hall that night, and did have an interest in testing his abilities.

"I've encountered something of the sort, but such mind-altering abilities are not common, even in the East," the boy said carefully, looking away from the petite Alchemist, lest he be tempted into saying more than he truly meant to reveal.

"Vould anyone at Durmstrang have such a power that you might be aware of?" Rachelle asked curiously, thinking back to her encounter with the Hogwarts Tri-Wizard Champion. "I vould like to meet our Etoile's savior and zank him…" She paused as she noted Shinji twitch. "…or her, if you have any leads."

"I…" Shinji began, but shook his head. "I may have a lead. But as you say, information like this is sensitive, so unless I can confirm what I suspect, while being absolutely sure it won't get back to Britain, I can't – won't – comment."

"Zat is fair," Rachelle allowed, with Shinji uncomfortably aware of the fact that she seemed to be moving closer to him. "Perhaps you can answer a more…personal question of mine, zen?" she asked.

This time, when Shinji shivered, it wasn't from a sensation of cold, as much as a thrill running down his spine as she looked at him.

"Y-yes, of course," Shinji said, all too quickly. "What would you like to know, Miss Lestrange?"

Of all the things he expected her to ask about, what she said next was not one of them.

"'Ow are you involved vith ze Eltnam?" the Alchemist all but demanded, with Shinji falling over backwards with a _splash_ she mentioned that name.

"The…Eltnam?" Shinji repeated, just to make sure he hadn't been hearing things.

"Oui," the girl replied, regarding him with frank curiosity now. "Clearly, you know of zem to have reacted so. I vish to know how."

"How, you say…" the boy echoed uneasily, before he gathered himself. He was better than this. He was. "Why…do you want to know?"

"Because my line of Alchemists was taught by one," Rachelle Lestrange revealed, an admission that struck Matou Shinji dumb. What _that_ why she reminded him of…? Because she, like he, was deeply tied to the moonlit world?

"Who?" he whispered, his awareness of the world fading away, until he could see only her. By this point, Fleur – though she had been the reason he came here – had been all but forgotten.

"A great man who bore ze name of _le roi des fees,_ Oberon," she disclosed.

At first, the name didn't mean much to him, but then he remembered the conversation he'd had with Sokaris in _Mahoutokoro,_ when she'd revealed to him that she was alive. When she'd mentioned that the last name of an Alchemist was not the family name, but a title, with the most learned being given the names of gods or fey. The most brilliant, of course, earned the right to call themselves Atlasia – as they represented all of Atlas, an echo of the earlier title of Sokaris, when one was simply of Atlas, and had not yet distinguished themselves enough for another title.

Which made it all the more significant that she allowed him to call her that, given that they were far closer to equals when she had been a student at Hogwarts than now, when it seemed she was far beyond him.

As for Oberon, well, he was, or had been…

' _A nearly unparalleled Alchemist who discovered the secret to creating the Philosopher's Stone – and the one that brought ruin to the Eltnam.'_

A former Director of Atlas who had left the Academy, and had taken up the mantle of the Thirteenth Dead Apostle Ancestor. The being called Night of Wallachia, or TATARI.

The ancestor of the one he was sworn to serve – and the great enemy he had vowed to help her defeat.

"Eltnam…Oberon," Shinji whispered, tilting his head. "Do you mean… _Zepia_?"

This time, it was Rachelle's turn to freeze as the Potions Champion of Hogwarts – a boy who should have had no connection to her family, spoke the name of their great master from long, long before.

"...how do you know that name?" the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons asked, almost in a whisper. This was…this was effectively proof that he was involved with the Eltnam in some manner. Monsieur Weasley had said as much. But…

"Who told you I was involved with the Eltnam?" Shinji shot back, with Rachelle lifting a dainty, pale eyebrow. "No one...no one should know that." No one except perhaps the other Stone Cutters, if they remembered what the TATARI-Boggart had called Sokaris – and what she had called _it_. "No, only three people here should know it…"

"I have my ways of knowing, Champion Matou," the petite blonde noted quietly. "Besides, you just admitted it."

Shinji cringed at having been caught off guard like this, as he was not used to being in this position. Rather, he was used to being the one in control, the one who discomfited others with information and abilities he could not possibly have.

He needed some way to turn this around, some way to shift this to his advantage.

He needed…

"How about this?" he suggested after a minute or so of silence. "A question for a question. Equivalent exchange should be acceptable for an Alchemist, yes?"

"Hm, indeed. One question apiece zen, Champion Matou," Rachelle agreed, not wanting to part with more than she had to. "As you have offered, you may ask first."

There were many things he wanted to ask, though he had hoped she would ask first, given that the one to speak first not only gave up information in the asking, but defined the terms of the conversation as a whole.

"You've mentioned this before," Shinji said, after a while. "But what does 'becoming the greatest alchemist that ever lived' mean to you?"'

"Are you certain zat is your question?" Rachelle inquired curiously. "It seems, so small, compared to everything you could ask."

"I'm certain," the boy replied, his eyes looking at her intently. "Answer, if you would."

"Very well," the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons agreed solemnly. She was perfectly aware Fleur was still in the spring and could hear everything they said, but it wasn't as if she was disclosing anything too sensitive. "To me, becoming ze greatest Alchemist who ever lived means surpassing ze legacy of the late Nicholas Flamel, and his Stone. It means surpassing ze legacy of my honored ancestor, ze first Director of ze Centre for Alchemical Studies. It means surpassing the legacy of Oberon, who taught our line Alchemy, and gaining ze knowledge he failed to attain in his life – ze knowledge of how to create a future vere ze humanity and ze vorld do not face destruction. For zat is ze true purpose of Alchemie – not fortune, or long life, or fame, but ze salvation of mankind."

Hearing this shouldn't have been surprising to Shinji, given that her line had been taught by an Eltnam – but it was.

It was because in all the moonlit world, only one organization spoke of Alchemy in those terms: Atlas Academy. It was because he thought of Oberon as the mad TATARI, not as someone who must have been – at one point – very much like Sokaris. It was, because what she'd said echoed what he'd sworn for himself.

"I see…"

"I have answered you, Champion Matou. Now answer me, you who aspire to be an Alchemist: how do you know of ze Eltnam and of Oberon?"

The boy could have answered in many ways.

He could have mentioned his adventures with Sialim Sokaris, and what she had meant to him. He could have mentioned the incident with the Boggart in first year. He could have said he read of Zepia in the notes of Nicholas Flamel.

But instead he himself said something entirely unexpected, as he touched the blood-red design on his upper arm:

"…because I am sworn to serve the one who is his descendant, regardless of what it costs me," Matou Shinji spoke softly. "One without whom I would be nothing, and no one. The greatest alchemist in the world, named for the titan whose shoulders bear the weight of the world: Sion Eltnam Atlasia."

There would be nothing more said that night between them, and though there had been two questions answered, many more would rise in their place in the next few weeks, as the Potions Champions of Beauxbatons and Hogwarts found themselves wondering what knowledge the other still withheld. Distracted by their duties and by the fallout of the choices they'd made, however, resulting in the death of a rather gruesome troll and complications for the first trial of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, they had little time to pursue that line of inquiry - at least, for the moment.


	32. Fragments

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 32.** _Fragments_

"Not quite how I remember this place," the Boy-Who-Lived quipped as he stepped out of a crackling green fire into the foyer of what used to be Honeydukes, a legendary wizarding sweets shop famous for its chocolate and many, wonderful and wild sweets, but was now the Hogsmeade hub for Wizarding Britain's Department of War. "There's certainly a lot less…"

"Chocolate, Mister Potter?" asked the man who had come to greet him, a grey-haired older wizard wearing rust-red robes, with a silver wand crossed with a bolt of lightning emblazoned at his breast.

This was Ladon Greengrass, the head of the Department of War, and the second most powerful man in all of Wizarding Britain. Under the emergency provisions established by the Wizengamot in the wake of the Quidditch World Cup incident, the Ministry had been reorganized to prioritize the protection of the British people from all threats – foreign and domestic – with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures combined to create the Department of War.

The new Department commanded broad authority, more so than any other had ever enjoyed, with its Department Head subordinate only to the Minister of Magic himself, and in the months since its creation, the Department of War had been quite active in patching security holes in Hogwarts' defenses – particularly as the core of the new army was being trained there.

"I was going to say color, but yes, there's quite a bit less of that too," Harry noted with a wistful expression, moving to brush the soot off of the plum robes that marked him as the British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot. "I'd heard the Ministry had purchased Honeydukes, but seeing the changes with my own eyes…"

"I'm aware, Mister Potter," Ladon replied quietly. "And I sympathize, as I was quite the patron of Honeydukes when I went to Hogwarts!" But the man shook his head. "If it were only up to me, I would have tried to find a way to allow the venerable institution to stay in business, but with the discovery of a secret passage from Hogwarts to Honeydukes..."

"I understand," Harry noted grimly. "With our army being trained at Hogwarts, it would be unwise to leave a means of bypassing the castle's defenses unsecured and unmonitored. Even if it is…inconvenient to us as students, I can see how decisive action and sometimes harsh measures are necessary to preserve the public good."

The Head of the Department of War looked over the boy who might well end up being his son-in-law in a few years, and nodded.

"I'm pleased you understand," Ladon Greengrass said, with a touch of approval. "There are many your age who would not."

"Which is why the Ministry allowed the arrangements for the Tri-Wizard Tournament to go forward, I imagine?" Harry inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Because it meant most of the students who enjoyed going to Hogsmeade, or the usual freedoms of peacetime, would be elsewhere and unable to complain?"

"Frankly speaking, yes, Mister Potter," the elder wizard confirmed with a nod. "And of course, it allows us to take advantage of Durmstrang's more combat-focused approach to training students, as we work on better integrating such practices into the Hogwarts curriculum."

"Clever."

"Yes, I thought it might be," Ladon noted with a wry chuckle. "Shall we continue this discussion in my office?"

The two walked past a collection of clerks busy with paperwork, great maps of locations like Wizarding London, Hogsmeade, the castle and ground of Hogwarts (with a number of pushpins and string denoting each of the discovered passageways leading out from the castle), and of course, a map of Britain, tracking the location and movements of known non-human groups – herds of centaurs, goblin enclaves, and the like, as they ascended the stairs in the back of the building and proceeded to Ladon's office, a rather austere place with no decorations whatsoever, and only a tea set as a concession to comfort.

There, the man pulled out his wand and muttered a few quiet spells, before, apparently satisfied, putting it away and bidding his guest to have a seat.

"Privacy is a difficult thing to be assured of these days, Harry," Ladon mused, as he settled in his own chair and poured the boy who might as well be family some tea. "Especially when one carries the weight of so much responsibility."

"You do seem more tired than when we last met," Harry commented, looking at the older man with some concern. "Daphne worries about you, with everything that's happening, and all the burdens you've had to bear."

"I'll be fine," replied the Head of the Department of War. "There's a cost to these things, you know? Seeing the youth being trained as soldiers, knowing many of them will probably die in the coming conflict. Having to close down beloved institutions to protect national security. Sealing the borders while we work on better ways or protecting ourselves."

"…letting the guilty go free?" Harry asked quietly, but pointedly.

Ladon stiffened in his chair at the question, but forced himself to relax, as he shook his head.

"You read about that, did you?"

"Hard to miss it, when it was on the front page of the _Prophet_ , sir," the Boy-Who-Lived pointed out. "May I ask why?"

"Several reasons, Harry, none of which I personally am fond of," Ladon Greengrass replied, his green eyes meeting Harry's own. "For better or for worse, the public believes Bulgaria to be the enemy which organized assault on the World Cup, and in the wake of our withdrawal from the ICW, has united against the influence of foreigners in general. So when these youths, misguided as they might be, move to assault those they see as our enemies, it is… _necessary_ that they be rewarded. We want to encourage those who are willing to push past their fear, to show the populace that they too can stand against our enemies. In the last war, the conflict you ended, too many stayed on the sidelines, believing themselves incapable of influencing the outcome of the struggle between the Dark Lord and the late Dumbledore. Were it not for the events that gave you the scar you wear today, all of Britain would have fallen because too many were ruled by their fear, and stood aside. Frankly speaking, we need able-bodied young wizards who are willing and eager to confront our enemies, no matter what it costs them. That is the cold logic of what we do – some need to die so that others may live. You know this, Harry."

The British Youth Representative looked away.

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Harry murmured, clenching and unclenching a fist. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, the one people look up to, the one they think will save them from all of this. And yet I'm the one asking them to die?"

"No, Harry, you're the one who gives them hope," Ladon said gently. "You and the Stone Cutters have shown that making a difference _is_ possible, demonstrating that a few with their hearts in the right place can do what many shy away from. You have given them an example to aspire to – and because of that, they believe they are not powerless. That sense of agency, more than anything else, is something I have preserve if we are to survive." The man shook his head. "Which is why I am concerned about the actions of our Champions over at Durmstrang."

"Oh?"

"You know what I mean, Harry," the head of the Department of War replied grimly. "Our Potions Champion offering to be the bodyguard of a Veela, and our Tri-Wizard Champion, who, when chosen for the honor, immediately sided with the foreigners and not with his slain countrymen."

"I'm sure they had good intentions, sir," the Boy-Who-Lived answered after a moment. "Both Shinji and George have a strong sense of justice, and when they heard about a group of three dozen ambushing two students, well…" He trailed off, sighing. "I think what they were trying to do was to limit the damage to Britain's reputation by distancing themselves – as Champions of Britain – from actions of the Hufflepuffs."

Which was merely speculation on his part, since he had not spoken with either Stone Cutter since the incident, with George apparently not leaving his quarters, and Shinji being difficult to find at the best of times, given that he was both in a different Banner at Durmstrang, and had a tendency to _disappear_ while he was at Hogwarts.

"I suppose that makes as much sense as anything else I have been hearing," Ladon allowed after a few moments of thought. "Though of course, the fact that one of them is a foreigner who rejected the offer of British Citizenship, and the other has a Japanese lover, doesn't help matters – not at home." The man looked at Harry speculatively. "You know, there would be many people who would be much more comfortable with you as our Potions Champion, Harry, as opposed to a foreigner who obviously has closer ties to his own country than to ours. You are a hero to them, after all – a household name in Britain – and descended from a notable line of potioneers. Would you be at all interested in claiming the title for yourself?"

It was a tempting offer, to be sure, and Harry Potter _was_ tempted, but in the end, the Boy-Who-Lived shook his head.

"While I might be, under other circumstances, Shinji earned the spot of Potions Champion," the plum-robed boy replied. "He's worked hard – very, very hard – to get where he is, and it wouldn't be right to take the position away from him. Not when he only means well."

Granted, Harry did wonder if Shinji had some ulterior motive in getting close to the French champion, given the Japanese boy's reputation as a womanizer and a flirt – and he hoped the boy wasn't actually being influenced by the part-Veela, given the rumors about her using her womanly charms to get what she wanted from men of all Banners – but that was neither here nor there.

"Your sense of loyalty is commendable, Harry," the older man commented. "In that case, all I ask is that you speak to him when you have a chance, as the Ministry does not approve of his…grandstanding. Nor for that matter, does it approve of that of Mister Weasley."

"I'll talk to both of them," Harry promised, though he wasn't sure when the next time he'd see George would be. Though to be fair, if George didn't leave his quarters, there wasn't much in the way of grandstanding he _could_ do.

"Please do," Ladon uttered. "I would not want to see our Champions recalled to Britain to be subjected to an inquiry by the Wizengamot, in which they would all but certainly be stripped of their positions unless they bound themselves by oath to recant their previous positions. Such…unpleasantness should be avoided whenever possible, don't you agree?"

"I do."

"Good," the second most powerful man in Britain intoned with a sense of finality. "Now that such business is behind us, how is Daphne? And I trust your studies are going well?"

"Daphne is doing well," Harry replied. "As are my studies, though it is odd to have so much individual instruction at Hogwarts, since I'm used to being part of much larger classes."

"No doubt, but given your responsibilities, and the fact that the Professors have much less to do than in standard years, with so many of their older charges at Durmstrang, it's only right that they earn their keep somehow, yes?"

"Well, that much is true."

"Out of curiosity, what are you studying?" Ladon inquired, a genial smile on his weathered features. "Potions and Herbology, I am certain, but I hope that you are continuing to follow up on Transfiguration? Given that you managed to become an animagus at such a young age, it would be almost a crime if you did not pursue those studies further!" He leaned closer, lowering his voice almost conspiratorially. "The late Dumbledore was a master of Transfiguration, after all. Perhaps in time you might even be as good as he?"

"That I can only hope," Harry demurred. "Currently, I am studying Defense from the Aurors instructing the Army Corps, as well as Transfiguration, with a focus on my animagus abilities. Shifting from one form to another rapidly, learning the strengths and weaknesses of my wolf form, and how to use it in combat if necessary."

Of course, he'd also used it at Durmstrang, with Daphne finding his lupine form rather huggable and fluffy, and him finding that it made for good camouflage in the snowy lands of Svalbard, but that was neither here nor there.

* * *

Tohsaka Rin sighed as she exited the workshop she'd been assigned at the Department of Archaeology, feeling the aches and pain of yet another long day of training under Aozaki Touko. Certainly, it was an honor to be the apprentice of one of the greatest magi of the modern era, but the puppeteer could be quite – quite – demanding, especially when she wanted to evaluate her combat abilities.

' _If I never see another puppet for as long as I live, it will be far too soon…'_

The Japanese girl had developed a special hatred for one of the puppeteer's automations in particular, a four-armed contraption modeled after the wielder of the Fifth Magic, given that it could fly, had ridiculously extendable arms, was resistant to basic spells like Gandr, and could both hit harder and move faster than any human – especially without the aid of reinforcement.

' _And she wasn't even paying attention either, given that she was talking about magical theory with Professor Lev, while wearing that insufferable smirk on her face._ '

Wanting her new Master to truly look at her and acknowledge her existence, instead of regarding her as an inconvenient distraction, Rin had thrown herself into sparring against the automaton on their first session together, coupling everything she'd learned of Bajiquan – one of the few useful things that fake priest had taught her – with the additional speed and strength afforded to her by reinforcement. She'd done well enough too, managing to hold her own – even landing a hit on the Aoko automaton – only for Touko to glance over and wonder aloud if that was all the heiress of the Tohsaka was capable of, since the discarded child of the Matou had done better… _without_ bothering with reinforcement.

Gritting her teeth, Tohsaka Rin had disabled her reinforcement to prove she was just as capable as the boy who had done so much for her – and had shortly been beaten like a drum, tossed like a ragdoll around the workshop until everything hurt, with her unable to muster the energy to even attempt to resist their attacks – at which point she was dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

"And this is the one Matou spoke so highly of?" Aozaki Touko had said later, taking a long drag on her cigarette as she walked over to Tohsaka, with the young girl just lying there, unable to move, unable to protest. "Frankly, I'm disappointed. When he convinced me you could benefit from my teachings, voluntarily giving up his apprenticeship so I could train you, he told me that the heiress of the Tohsaka was a prodigy. That once, he had idolized you as an example what it meant to be a perfect magus. But I don't see any of that, just a rash, stubborn girl who can't even beat one of my _weakest_ automatons."

"I…" Rin had croaked.

"I'll make you a deal," the red-haired magus had said, after taking a puff on her cigarette while observing her would-be apprentice's pathetic state. "Defeat my automaton and I will acknowledge you as a magus worthy of my time. Until then, you're little more than an amusement."

With that, Aozaki Touko had left, with her automaton in tow, leaving Tohsaka to pass out on the floor, while her Crest worked on healing her so that she would be able to make it back to her dorm without collapsing.

So it had gone for each of the sessions she'd had with the puppeteer, with the Tohsaka heiress waking up hours later, her body sore from the beating – and the healing – from the day, cursing the name of her new Master under her breath.

' _I_ am _worth something,'_ she would think to herself afterwards. _'I am_ not _just an amusement. I_ am _a good magus. I'll wipe that smirk off of Aozaki-san's face and_ make _her acknowledge me if it's the last thing I do!'_

She hadn't managed to do it _yet,_ but she would.

Or so she told herself as she dragged herself back to her dorm room, not feeling like eating or showering, longing to just crawl into her bed and fall into dreaming. When she woke again, she'd feel refreshed and healed, ready to face a morning of classes, and an afternoon of working on her research project – and building a Mystic Code – with help from Professor Lev, who was by far more approachable than El Melloi, and evenings of training – either on her own, with one of her fellow students, or once a week, with Aozaki Touko.

Today, however, collapsing wasn't an option, given that there was an unexpected visitor loitering outside her door: the mysterious, but kind-hearted strawberry blonde known as Mashu Kyrielite, who had stayed with her and Matou in their manor in London and had essentially acted as the manor's maid.

' _But why is she here?'_

That was a question Tohsaka Rin had no real answer to, but then it wasn't as if she knew much about Mashu, aside from the fact that the other girl was a fellow student at the Tower, under the Department of Astrology. How Matou had found Mashu, where she was from, what family she belonged to, what she was interested in – Rin didn't actually know many of these things, since the few conversations they had once had generally consisted of Rin complaining about her day, with the other mostly listening and taking care of her.

' _I took her for granted as someone who would always be there…'_

…before she had made things terribly awkward between them by giving Mashu a drunken, sloppy kiss, of course, after which the other girl had avoided her.

Until now, when the girl had come to her.

"Oh, hello Mashu," Rin greeted her old…comrade? Friend? Housemate formally, though she couldn't keep a hint of red from her cheeks as she remembered how Mashu's lips had tasted of strawberries. She licked her lips nervously, trying not to think about how disheveled and battered she must look after a session with her _Master._ "W-What brings you to the Department of Archaeology?"

"You, Miss Tohsaka," the bespectacled girl replied with a gentle smile, with Rin's heart skipping a beat at the blonde's words.

What did it mean that Mashu had come all the way out here for _her?_ Could it mean that…? Did she dare think that…?

"That is, I have a message for you from Senpai. From Mister Matou," Mashu amended, with the girl looking down shyly, so that her hair covered one of her eyes. It was…cute, but, the effect was lost given the impact of her words.

"Oh," Rin uttered, as the flicker of excitement she'd allowed herself to feel evaporated away, to be replaced with uncertainty and trepidation, given the circumstances surrounding their _last_ meeting, when she'd thrown herself at the boy, kissing him, trying to seduce him, offering to give him _everything_ – and he'd completely rejected her.

She'd said terrible things to him that night, under the influence of grief and liquor, as she dared him to ravish her – and when he refused, accused him of not caring about her, of hating her, of being useless – something she knew he was sensitive about, since he'd once been replaced as the Matou heir. She'd tried to hurt him with words, to make him share her pain when he wouldn't help ease hers by obliging her simple request to just have his way with her…

Frankly, she thought that would be the end of their friendship, or really, their relationship as a whole, with a cold, impersonal eviction notice being delivered to her, throwing her out onto the streets and proving Kotomine had been right: that it had been presumptuous of her to think there was a place for her outside of Fuyuki, that someone could care about her, that she was worth anything when she hadn't even deciphered her father's will.

Yet despite what she'd feared – even expected, to be quite honest, given her far from appropriate behavior towards him, Matou hadn't thrown her out of his house – or his life. Instead, in a move that had made absolutely no sense given everything she knew, the boy who called himself Matou Shinji had asked Aozaki Touko, the master puppeteer who had been his Master, to personally intervene on her behalf. Thanks to him, it was _she_ who had become the puppeteer's formal apprentice, and regardless of how well (or how badly) she might get along with her new Master, the boy's willingness to make that kind of sacrifice _for her_ was…she didn't know how to feel about it.

' _He gave up his apprenticeship…for me. On top of everything he's already done for me – giving me gems, buying a house for my use, giving me advice, helping me find a new sponsor. Even though I said all those things to him. Even though I was so…so…selfish. So…_ pathetic… _'_

No proper magus would have given up a chance to learn from one of the greatest magi of the present age, at least not without expecting some vast concession in return. But then, Matou hadn't asked for _anything_ from her all this time, which frankly only made her _more_ worried because it probably meant that when he finally did ask for something, it would be something great and terrible.

Living away from Matou's manor in London, Tohsaka had been able to put his motives out of her mind and concentrate on the day to day business of being a magus – of advancing her craft and trying (and failing) to surpass her Master's low expectations of her, but it seemed that she would no longer be able to run.

Not with Mashu here on Matou's behalf, no doubt because the time had come for the enigmatic boy to collect what he was owed.

"I see." Rin swallowed nervously, looking down. "And what does Matou-kun want with…me?"

The answer that the other gave was anything but reassuring.

"Senpai put his thoughts into a letter," Mashu said kindly, retrieving a sealed envelope from the messenger bag she carried, and proffering it the Tohsaka heiress.

"I…see," Rin repeated, though she made no move to take the missive from the blonde's hands. "Do you…do you have any idea what he wrote?"

"Just that he wants to meet with you alone," the bespectacled girl replied. "And that he thinks you and he need to talk. Send a reply in an envelope addressed to me, if you wish to make arrangements."

"…to you?" Rin looked up, an uncomprehending eyebrow. "Why…?"

Wasn't Mashu just the live-in maid, essentially? So why was she being trusted with…?

"Senpai has his reasons, Miss Tohsaka," the other girl responded simply, continuing to hold out the letter. "Please trust him."

"…if you say so, Mashu," the Japanese magus said as she took the letter from the blonde, who just smiled encouragingly at her.

Rin tentatively smiled back at the other girl, and gathering her courage, made up her mind.

"Mashu – you came a long way, didn't you?" she managed to ask, hopefully without seeming too desperate. "I don't suppose you would like to come in for some tea? Or coffee? Maybe we could…talk? It's been some time, after all, since…" But Rin trailed off, unable to find the words to continue.

The bespectacled girl seemed surprised at the offer, but gently shook her head.

"Mm, that's kind of you, Miss Tohsaka," Mashu replied with a touch of something Rin couldn't quite place. "But I think you could use some rest. You look rather…worn."

Rin's shoulders slumped at the other's statement.

"I guess you're right, Mashu," the Japanese magus said dejectedly. She yawned then, partially for effect, and partially because she genuinely was tired. "But what are you planning to do then?" Rin pressed. "Surely there aren't any trains running this late to get you back to London?"

"There aren't," the other girl confirmed, but she didn't seem worried. "But I'll be fine. There's a car waiting to take me back to the manor."

"I…of course there is," Rin noted with a sigh, though it made her wonder exactly who Mashu was – and how much Matou trusted her – if he was willing to go to such lengths to ensure his housemate's safety. _'Gah, what am I saying? Am I…jealous, after everything he's already done for me?'_ Still, it wouldn't do to seem unhappy, so with a bit of effort, she quashed those thoughts and forced herself to smile. "Good night then, Mashu. Thank you for coming all this way…for me."

"It was no trouble, Miss Tohsaka. Please rest well."

And then she was gone, leaving Tohsaka Rin once again alone.

* * *

It was strange that people relied entirely on the evidence of their senses, even in a world of magic, as if their senses could not be easily deceived. Or so thought George Weasley, as he wandered the once familiar halls of Hogwarts in his spirit form, shadowing the grim-faced recruits of Wizarding Britain's new army as they patrolled for intruders, clad smartly in black and silver robes.

' _Though of course, none of them can sense me when I'm like this,'_ he mused. _'Not even the Aurors who instruct them, or the professors at Hogwarts…'_

After following an unsuspecting Harry Potter through the Vanishing Cabinet from Durmstrang to Hogwarts, George had taken the time to look in on the lessons being taught to the army and to talk around Hogsmeade to see how greatly things had changed in the time he'd been away…and of course, to learn what had become of those Hufflepuffs he'd stopped from murdering Krum and Delacour.

To his immense disappointment, aside from the closure of Honeydukes – and Zonko's – it seemed that they had been released without punishment, and were – in the eyes of the British public, at least – being honored as heroes. Still, he actually didn't mind that they were being inducted into the new army, given the harsh discipline that the recruits were subject to, so they could learn to work together as a unit.

' _Of course, I did not expect that boy – Stebbins – to die from seeing his memories, but I suppose some are simply too weak-minded to face the truth of their helplessness…'_

It was odd, looking upon the world with his new perspective, seeing how illogical most people were, how they clung to things they knew were lies in order to keep from going mad from grief and terror.

Fred, for instance, blamed himself for the death of the two oldest Weasley children and their mother, given that without the VIP tickets that the twins had given the rest of the family – given that they would be in Japan – the family would not have been able to attend, and so would have survived. His brother further blamed himself for not being there, when in all probability, Fred would simply have died on that battlefield, like Hillard, like Charlie, like Bill – becoming part of the multitude that had been consigned to claw and flame that terrible night.

Harry believed the responsibility for all of Britain rested on his shoulders, simply because he – as the Boy-Who-Lived, had ended the last war, and so felt a responsibility to become the hero others perceived him to be. Yet as the nominal leader of the Stone Cutters rose in rank and esteem, becoming the one Britain looked to for guidance, George wondered if Harry realized that he was shackling himself to a lost cause. For Wizarding Britain had chosen to stand against the world – and George knew very well that if it caught the ire of the great powers out there – powers far beyond Britain, it would be crushed in a heartbeat.

Even his father, Arthur, clung to his routine and to the classes he taught, denying that anything was wrong in public, only to weep in the privacy of his chambers at Hogwarts, grieving for his dead sons – but strangely, not for his wife.

' _Now that I can see what makes humans tick – in some ways I no longer wish to.'_

Not in Britain, at least, where there was a palpable undercurrent of fear and rage against the world, and where people did very strange things due to loss.

' _Though I can't say that's true of everyone. Lovegood has always been strange, and is no stranger now than before, I think. I can't be certain, since I can never seem to get close to her without some force driving me away.'_

A force not unlike that which had resulted from Kohaku's _hama yumi_ , come to think of it, which caused him pain if he lingered too long in its presence in spirit form.

Though perhaps it was simply his aversion to how Lovegood seemed to notice his approach every time he came within a certain distance of her, something he would have dismissed as coincidence, save for the fact that Rachelle Lestrange – who bore an eerie resemblance to Lovegood – had not only detected him, but had confronted him for his alleged "spying."

And while he was certain his fellow Stone Cutter would not react with the deadly intent the French Potions Champion had, a confrontation of any sort, was the last thing he needed, given that he was not authorized to be at Hogwarts at present. After all, he did not have the special dispensations of Matou or Potter, which meant there would be…questions if his presence here was discovered.

Oddly, Peeves had not been the issue he had assumed, with the poltergeist simply nodding respectfully as he passed, which in some ways, that was the strangest thing of all since the time he'd returned.

' _Perhaps making him an honorary Stone Cutter, giving him a place to belong, was truly a good idea. I only meant it as a joke in third year, but if it works now, why not…? Still, I wish there was someone I could talk to who understood what it was like to see all the imperfections humans hid away behind their masks and fictions.'_

Unbidden, the face of Fujou Kohaku came to his mind, with George wondering what the redheaded _onmyouji_ had been up to since returning from _Aokigahara._

' _I wonder if she's happy, and if I'll ever see her again.'_

But then, it wasn't as if there was some way to let him return to _Mahoutokoro,_ which meant that for the moment, he was stuck wandering Hogwarts until Harry was done with his appointments with the Ministry and the Wizengamot, and was ready to return to Durmstrang.

Given the nature of such things, George imagined that the Boy-Who-Lived might be a while longer, so in the meantime, he thought he might as well see what Professor Lockhart was up to, since he was curious about how much Parkinson – who he had observed training – had changed in a summer, and he wanted to know more about the man he was indebted to after the Acromantulae incident.

So far, in his spirit form, he'd had no trouble simply phasing through doors and walls as if they were not there, but this time, as he made to pass through Lockhart's door – he collided with it instead, with a white flash appearing in his mind that caused him physical pain.

' _What in the world…?'_ he had time to wonder, before the door swung open, with the voice of the History Professor issuing from within. "Come in, Mister Weasley. I've been expecting you."


	33. In the Dark

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 33.** _In the Dark_

In the time since he had returned to Durmstrang, Matou Shinji – like at least one of his fellow potions champions – had come to appreciate the peace of the northern isle upon which the school had been built.

' _It is certainly different from_ Mahoutokoro _or Hogwarts_ , _Master,'_ the voice of Zelkova commented in his head, with Shinji stiffening and pausing in midstep, since this was the first time he had heard his familiar's voice since the ill-fated duel with the puppet who called himself Tomas. _'And not simply in how cold it can become.'_ The _kodama_ said through their mental link. _'There is…much less of a presence here...'_

' _Zelkova! Are you—'_

' _I am well, Master,'_ the _kodama_ noted calmly, as Shinji's foot hit the ground and his shoulders sagged with relief. True, Ayaka had reassured him that the familiar had not been slain by the Killing Curse, and he had no reason to doubt her, as she had never sought to deceive him, but it was one thing to be told of something and another to learn it firsthand. _'Given the nature of my divided existence, my link to my tree was stronger than to your staff, so when you first went to this place, I lingered in the City Beneath the Earth, where I remained until you returned. As for why I have not announced my presence before now, I did not wish to intrude, as you were seemingly preoccupied with other affairs, Master.'_

' _Ah.'_

' _Speaking of which, perhaps it would be wise for you to concentrate on Miss Delacour, given that she seems to be concerned,'_ Zelkova added, almost wryly. _'I shall simply observe, as I prefer to do.'_

Indeed, the part-Veela had resorted to shaking the boy's shoulder in hopes of eliciting some response, given that her alleged bodyguard had simply _frozen_ where he stood, his gaze going distant.

"—tou. Mister Matou?" Fleur called out, her brow furrowing in concern over what had happened to her fellow Champion, the Japanese boy had never just seized like this. Did the younger boy have some condition that he had neglected to mention? And if so…was she going to be accused of assaulting the Hogwarts Potions Champion and rendering him insensate?

' _I do not vish zat,'_ the Beauxbatons Tri-Wizard Champion told herself, and not just because of the…inconvenience this would pose to her, given that the boy was one of the few from his school who stood in her defense. At heart, Fleur Delacour, Etoile of Beauxbatons, was simply someone who didn't like to see others get hurt, especially if it was because of her – or at her hands.

"Mister Ma—?" she began again, only to cut herself off as the Japanese boy seemed to come back to himself.

"Hm?" Shinji said, shaking himself as he looked around. "…how long…?"

"More zan a minute," Fleur replied. "Are you…well, Mister Matou? Do ve need to return to ze castle?"

"No," Shinji answered, waving the part-Veela off. "Sorry about that. I was just…distracted by something."

"Something?" Fleur asked, curiosity writ large across her delicate features.

The Japanese boy frowned as he tried to find the right words for what he had to say, as he didn't want to unnecessarily mention his familiar or other things that most people didn't understand.

"Let's just say that there was something that's been on my mind since I came to Durmstrang, and while we were walking, I managed to figure it out," Shinji responded with a sheepish smile.

"Oh?" Fleur inquired, raising a slim eyebrow as they began walking again, side by side under the tapestry of the night sky, with the castle of Durmstrang far in the distance. "Iz it your attraction to Rachelle?"

"What."

"I see ze vay you look at her," the part-Veela commented, with a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips. "It iz how boys often look at me, only…more so."

"More?" Shinji asked quizzically, his face deceptively calm, as his mind replayed the interactions he'd had with the Beauxbatons Potions Champion. Surely he hadn't... "What do you mean?"

"You look at her," Fleur began, shaking her head, "as if she is ze only person in ze world zat matters, as if she is ze only person there, as if you look away she vill disappear. Even under ze most potent effect of my allure, it iz not me you see, but her. Vy? Does she remind of someone from your past?"

"I…" Shinji began, before shaking his head and chuckling. Perhaps it was best to just play along for now, since if he was going to spending time with Fleur, he might as well talk to her more openly about things. "…to be honest, yes, she does, actually."

"Who?" Fleur inquired curiously. She had a feeling this line of conversation was somehow important – that perhaps it explained how and why a fourth year had bested his peers to become Champion.

"Someone without whom I would not be what I am today," the Japanese boy said after some moments. "Someone who called herself an alchemist."

"An Alchemiste…like ze one you serve?" Fleur asked quietly, recalling what the Hogwarts Potions Champion had said to Rachelle in the hot spring.

"…yeah, like the one I serve," Shinji replied, sighing deeply as he looked away into the distance. "Her name was Sialim Sokaris, and she meant – means – more to me than anyone could ever know."

"Was?" the part-Veela echoed carefully. "Why was?"

"…she's gone now," the boy said heavily, with Fleur catching a glimpse of the soulful look on his face. "It's in her honor that I strove to become Potions Champion. Because that's what she wanted – would have wanted."

"I…see," Fleur noted, taking a moment to digest all that. "I am…sorry for your loss."

But the boy shook his head, as an enigmatic smile crossed his lips.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm just grateful to have met her," Shinji all but whispered. "To have known her. To have been trusted so deeply by her. And…"

"And Rachelle is like zis…Sokaris?"

"…she really is," Shinji said with a lopsided smile. "In a lot of ways, really."

Most of all that both saw the salvation of mankind as end goal of Alchemy – which in hindsight, shouldn't surprise him too much, save for how that he hadn't encountered any user of witchcraft who identified with Atlas' principles.

"Curious. I do not often hear people speaking well of ze Etoile Noire, as most are scared of her, intimidated by how…by how easily she takes lives and how little she cares about 'uman values," Fleur replied. "But you are different."

"I…I suppose I am," Shinji admitted.

"Iz it because you are from Japan?" Fleur wondered aloud. "I know very leetle about ze East, but I am told their traditions are…different?"

Shinji chuckled as snow crunched under his feet.

"Perhaps," he said, not wishing to give too much away in front of another school's Champion. "But I think it's less about where I'm from as much as what I've experienced. I think it's because…I understand Miss Lestrange."

"You understand her?"

"Well, not completely," Shinji amended. "No human being understands another completely. But…more than most. You say that she doesn't care about lives or human values, but I think she has her principles all the same. What was it she said? 'The only ones who should kill are those prepared to be killed?'"

"Oui."

"There you go then."

"…you are an odd boy, Matou," the part-veela commented, glancing over at the Potions Champion of Hogwarts. "But I zink I understand you and Rachelle a little better now. Zankyou."

"Of course," Shinji replied, inclining his head slightly. "Shall we keep walking? It is a lovely night, after all."

"It iz always night here."

"…all the more reason to enjoy the beauty of the isle," the Boy from the East quipped. "And our time away from the castle, where there are too many who…"

"Are weak-minded, crude, clumsy, and boorish?"

"I wouldn't have put it _quite_ that way," Shinji replied. "But yes. It's been difficult dealing with the hateful stares and comments, and I'm sorry some have taken my gesture the wrong way. Out here though, we're far away from all of them."

"Mm."

Shinji looked over at his companion.

"Out of curiosity, do you have any idea what the first task of the Tournament is going to involve?" he inquired, but before Fleur could answer, a roar of frenzied rage rent the silence of the night, with the world shaking as the thundering footsteps of a massive evil-shaped form homed in on their position.

' _Troll.'_

And not just a wild one either, given that the towering beast held a well-made metal club and had lengths of chain dragging from its shackles around its ankles. Still, its origins didn't matter as it was coming his way – and was enraged.

"Back me up or get out of here, Miss Delacour," Shinji barked, his demeanor suddenly all business as he extended his wand into a staff, his eyes glowing gold and a cloud of _ofuda_ fluttering from his sleeves to fill the air. "This could get a bit…messy, and I don't want you hurt."

"I'm not running," Fleur intoned, drawing her wand with a determined expression on her face. "I'm just as much of a champion as you, Mister Matou."

"Be that as it may, stay out of its path. I'll draw its attention and you hit it from behind. But for now, look away!" Shinji ordered, his tone brooking no disagreement as a number of his _ofuda_ shot towards the rampaging troll, detonating with a _whump-BOOM_ in a blaze of brilliant white light that blinded the beast and caused it to stagger to a halt as it roared in pain.

Fleur, who had thankfully done as Shinji asked, blinked, her eyes narrowing as she mentally revised her estimates of his combat potential upwards. Far upwards.

"Very well," the part-Veela acknowledged, darting away from Shinji's position as the troll snarled, its beady eyes focusing on the form of the boy who had dared to strike it as it lowered its head and _charged_ with the mass of a moving mountain, its massive wrought-iron club seeking to smash the Japanese boy into paste – only to find that he was no longer there.

' _Heh, I'll have to thank Touko for these enchanted garments sometime,'_ Shinji thought to himself, quite satisfied by the dramatic increase in speed his boots gave him. It wasn't enough to match fusion, but he didn't exactly want to reveal _that_ in front of someone else. What he could though… _'Zelkova, some earth spikes, if you would.'_

' _Yes, Master.'_

The troll lurched to a halt as wicked stakes of sharpened stone the size of small tree trunks rose at an angle from the ground, slamming into – and through – the hide and sinew and bone of its legs, with the boy from the east taking advantage of his enemy's suddenly immobile state to launch a _**Reductor**_ curse from his staff towards at the troll's club, with the weapon exploding into a shower of iron splinters as the brilliant blue beam made contact.

A titanic scream of rage rent the air as the troll forced itself into motion, its nostrils flaring in fury as it caught the scent of the boy who had wounded him and _charged_ once more, breaking through the pillars of earth that rose to impede him.

Yet once again, the boy was not there, with slips of paper fluttering from the place he's been and affixing to the monstrous figure's eyes, where they melted into a black, bubbling mess that ate away at anything they made contact with, blinding the troll as more spikes of sharpened stone slammed into it, as it thrashed and fought and struggled.

"Now would be an excellent time if you wanted to help," Shinji called out to a Fleur who was rather startled by the abilities the boy was displaying – many of which she had never seen before. "I could kill it, but I'm not sure if I should, given that this isn't just a wandering troll. Someone brought it here, and might be a little…upset if it just happened to die."

Privately, Fleur thought whoever brought the troll would be enraged enough over the injuries to it, but nodded. She hadn't been sure how much help she'd be, given a troll's resistance to wand spells, but if Matou was going to keep it occupied, there _was_ something she could do.

And so, Fleur Delacour opened her mouth and began to _sing_ , an eerie melody of longing and loss that cut through the din of the troll's struggles – struggles that began to slow as she sang, with the troll's movements growing less and less certain, less and less sure, its arms falling to its sides as its head slumped forward.

This was one the abilities the part-Veela hadn't really wanted to show off – an application of her ability to mesmerize and channeled through singing, as the sound of her voice could bypass the innate resistance of a magical creature's hide. It wouldn't work, of course, if the troll was actively attacking _her_ , given that anger towards the caster would be able to reject the influence of her song, but it wasn't. It _had_ started by trying to attack the Hogwarts Potions Champion, but then had somehow lost track of the boy as it thrashed around ineffectually, no longer focused enough to resist mental manipulation.

That was how she'd been able to stun it.

"It is done," Fleur noted, as Matou Shinji made his way to her side – completely uninjured, with his staff shrinking back to the size of a normal wand. "Ze troll is stunned for now. 'Ow long it will hold…" She shrugged.

"Noted," Shinji said. "How did you do that, may I ask? Is it your…Veela heritage?"

"…you are perceptive, Mister Matou," the Tri-Wizard Champion of Beauxbatons commented. "Oui, it iz."

"Your specialty isn't destruction, is it?" the boy observed. "You're powerful, but your talents lie elsewhere."

"Like all Veela, I am better at control," Fleur admitted, looking over at the troll uneasily, tossing her long blonde hair with a shake of her head. "It takes much more effort to subdue a troll zan a wizard, 'owever, and I am not sure 'ow long ze troll will remain dazed."

"I see."

"You didn't vish to kill it, but I don't vish to just leave it here, waiting for the next person to come by…"

"And so you're asking for my recommendation?" Shinji clarified, to which the part-Veela nodded. "Hm, killing it would be the easiest thing to do, but also the thing most likely to upset whoever brought the troll here."

In the distance – in the direction the troll had come from – he noted a dark patch against the snowy ground he thought was probably a lake.

"How about this?" the boy proposed. "You keep singing to it for as long as possible, and I'll levitate it over to the lake. Unfortunately, I destroyed its club, so I can't just use that to knock it out, but if I slam the troll's head against the ground hard enough, that should work, eventually. And if it doesn't work…we can always kill it."

"Oui. Ve will do it your way," Fleur acknowledged, deferring to the boy who had the combat capability to hold off – and probably kill – the troll.

Unfortunately for the two of them, things didn't work quite as Shinji had hoped. Oh, levitating the troll towards the lake via its chains and shackles, worked fine, as did Fleur keeping it subdued with song. It was when the troll's head was slammed into the icy ground that all hell broke loose, as the blow broke the fragile hold Fleur had over the beast, with it roaring in fury once more.

Shinji, surprised by this, dropped the troll – which was not quite a good move because with its feet on the ground once more, it went berserk, moving faster than it had before, its arms clawing and smashing everything in its path as it crashed towards them.

' _Spikes now!'_

Stakes of sharpened stone rose from the ground towards the troll, but this time, though the spears pierced it, the troll simply shrugged off its injuries as if they are but minor inconveniences, trivialities that would not keep it from killing its tormentor – or tormentors.

Yet its tormentors fought back, as a wave of _ofuda_ rushed through the air and landed on the troll, melting into a black, bubbling mess as it touched the creature's skin and began to _eat through it_ , while another cast a spell to heat its shackles over and over until the iron was white hot, with the troll's bulk slamming to the ground with a bellow of agony as its feet and ankles were severed from the rest of its body.

Still, though, the troll did not – would not – stop, with the creature raising itself with its arms as it moved towards the duo, leaving Shinji no choice but to levitate the white-hot iron of what had once been the troll's shackles into the creature's open maw, and out the back of its neck, severing its spinal cord and burning the creature to death from the inside out.

Even then the creature thrashed about, its final throes more frenzied than ever, before it finally collapsed and moved no more.

"…shall we push it towards the lake?" Shinji said after a while, wrinkling his nose as the smell of burning flesh assailed him. "Might be better than just leaving it in the open."

"Mm. I do not zink we can levitate it again, without its chains," Fleur noted, looking somewhat disgusted at the charred wreck of what had once been a powerful security troll.

"Fine. I'll take care of it," Shinji groused, though he had no intention of doing any such thing.

' _Zelkova, if you would do the honors?'_ he asked his familiar. The boy thought he might have heard something like a sigh over the mental link he shared with his _kodama_ , before a wave of earth arose from the ground and began to roll the troll's corpse towards the dark surface of the lake, with a flat pillar launching it into the air at an angle over the edge – just as a massive reptilian figure – a sea serpent almost 30 meters in length – burst forth from the water's dark surface, its massive jaws seizing the troll about the waist and dragging it back into the lake, leaving the night silent once more.

"What. The. Hell."

In the wake of the incident, Shinji found himself staring at the black surface of the lake, wondering what exactly that creature was, why it was there, and what else might be in that lake. The grounds hadn't seemed too dangerous before, but if there were creatures like that about…

"What…was that thing?" the Potions Champion of Hogwarts asked, taken aback by the appearance of that…monster.

"A Selma..." Fleur breathed, her voice hushed, as she now seemed almost worried.

"A what?" Shinji inquired.

"Selma," the Beauxbatons Tri-Wizard Champion repeated. "An immense sea serpent whose size is only exceeded by its ferocity." The part-Veela shook her head. "And if it's here, it probably has something to do with the first task."

"...I see," Shinji observed. Suddenly, he felt quite thankful he wasn't part of the Tri-Wizard Championship – though given that the Potions Competition had an even more dangerous reputation, the relief was incomplete. _'Oh no. Now I realize why the troll was here – and why it refused to be pushed back until we rendered it incapable of movement. It knew what was here.'_ "I just realized something. The troll was probably brought to Durmstrang to keep students away from the Selma. Given its shackles…it was probably chained to a stake, but I guess it got free. Somehow."

"Ze timing is…suspicious," Fleur commented, seeming rather unhappy. "Do you zink…?"

"I don't know if it was an attempt on our lives," Shinji replied. "I'd like to hope it wasn't, but, I could be wrong."

"Tell me, Mister Matou, do you think we should tell someone about zis?" Fleur inquired, looking over at the lake uneasily. "Or should we keep zis little incident to ourselves?"

"Why ask me?" the boy from the east wondered aloud.

"…because without you, I might very well be dead," the part-Veela admitted uneasily. "And…you are a champion, but not a competitor."

"Mm." Shinji closed his eyes, shaking his head. On the one hand, he really wanted to avoid trouble if at all possible, but if he did, it might put others at risk. "I guess we should probably tell someone."

"As you say, Mister Matou."

* * *

It was a well-known fact that Durmstrang was a dangerous place – that the expansive grounds of the frozen isle on which the school was housed held dangers aplenty, some natural and some man-made. Still, the immediate area around the castle was generally was safe enough, given that the teachers, Banner Commanders, and their officers, did regular security sweeps to clear out any strange creature infestations or other threats to the school, and those who had access to the grounds on their weekly rotations knew better than to go off alone.

(Admittedly, arrangements had become a little frayed with the presence of so many visitors, some of which were not aware of the rules, and some of which were simply daredevils who thought the rules didn't apply to them - and had gotten injured for it.)

An incident involving a security troll so close to the castle was a rather serious matter, however, especially in conjunction with the sighting of a Selma, with Matou Shinji and Fleur Delacour finding themselves brought before the headteachers of Beauxbatons, Hogwarts, and Durmstrang, a tio that was protective, curious, and suspicious, respectively.

"A disturbing tale," Madame Maxine commented. "You say the troll just...came out of nowhere, Potions Champion?"

Given that this was Shinji's third time relating the story of the encounter, he was beginning to get fairly tired of repeating himself. Still, given that he found himself compelled to answer, he decided he might as well play along, so as not to get into more trouble.

"Essentially. We were unaware of it until it was almost upon is," the Japanese boy said respectfully.

"An unlikely story," Igor Karkaroff sneered, looking down at the Potions Champion. "As we all know, Trolls do not simply...come out of nowhere. They are large, dangerous beasts almost incapable of stealth."

"Vell, this one did!" Fleur Delacour insisted, her eyes flashing with irritation on being cut off. "Apologies, 'eadmaster Karkaroff. I simply...am tired of zis line of questioning."

"No offense taken, Miss Delacour," Filius Flitwick squeaked reassuringly, perched as he was on top of a podium. "I believe we're just trying to figure out how something like this could have happened, since I don't believe either of you went out looking for danger."

"Or perhaps they did," Karkaroff commented dryly. "I do not know about Miss Delacour, but Mister Matou does have something of a record when it comes to seeking his fortune, whatever the rules might say. His…what was his organization called again? Ah, yes, his Stone Cutters – for instance, fought a troll in the past, did they not? One which somehow found its way into Hogwarts? Isn't what what you told me, Flitwick? Is that not…suspicious?"

"...now now, Igor, as you know, that was the work of a Dark Wizard," Flitwick interjected, seeming slightly perturbed at Igor's insinuations. "The very same that ended up slaying Professor Quirrell, and who was only defeated by the efforts of the Stone Cutters."

"Still a rather odd thing how they just so happened to be there, wouldn't you say, Filius?" Karkaroff inquired. "Especially given how Hogwarts students in general have recently shown a penchant for...rule-breaking and injuring others. But then, you would know that, wouldn't you, Miss Delacour? Given how it was Hogwarts students who ambushed you and Mister Krum."

"Igor," Flitwick squeaked. "Those students, misguided as they were, were disciplined and sent back—"

"—those ' _students_ ', as you call them, were sent back to Britain, where they were released and honored as heroes!" Karkaroff roared, as Madame Maxine flinched, a look of horror and anger on her face as she turned to look at the part-goblin Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"'eadmaster Flitwick, is this true?" the half-giantess rumbled.

"Mind you, Filius, if you try to deny it, I have a copy of your country's _Daily Prophet_ in my possession," Igor revealed, his dark eyes cold. "Or is it that they did not inform you either? How interesting…your country plays a very dangerous game."

The copy, of course, was a duplicate of that which Matou Shinji had supplied to the Raven Commander.

"I will look into this, but what happened to them is not in question right now!" Flitwick snapped back, rage flitting across his expression for a moment before he managed to suppress it. When he spoke again, his voice was much calmer - or rather, more controlled. "Today, we are gathered here instead to discuss an incident involving a troll attacking students. Specifically, one of the security trolls brought in the Tri-Wizard Tournament escaping its bonds and attacking two Champions, with the result being the troll's death and an early revelation of an aspect of task to one of the competitors."

"That's hardly—" Madame Maxime began, not quite done with the previous topic, but Karkaroff cut her off.

"—just so, Filius," the man said sharply. "And now that you've gone and said that much, let me go further and mention that security trolls, _do not_ simply wander out of their designated areas. Especially when they are assigned to guard an area, with their chains only serving as backup restraints, in case one does slip its training."

"What are you implying, Igor?" Flitwick squeaked.

"That these two likely went looking for the troll, acting on information that Miss Delacour...obtained from one of her peers, using her...womanly charms," Headmaster Karkaroff accused. "What other reason would they have to be so far from the castle?"

"I do not like what you are implying, Karkaroff," Madame Maxime rumbled, rising to her rather imposing full height as she glared down at the man – who held firm under her regard. "My student would not..."

"She's been seen with those from other Banners, in violation of traditions against cross-Banner fraternization," Karkaroff said flatly, his eyes giving the young part-Veela an unfriendly once-over. "By several individuals. Taking the accounts together, it is clear that she slips away from her escort to help herself to our students as if Durmstrang were some smorgasbord for carnal pleasure. That she uses sweet words, coy smiles and more to get even Banner officers to tell her whatever she wants. As for how she slips away but has someone to give her an alibi – that much is obvious, though I didn't think even her tastes extended to young boys."

Fleur Delacour had been through a lot in the past few weeks.

Coming to a new school with (what seemed to her) bad food and foul weather, being ambushed and left for dead by Hogwarts students, if not for the intervention of some unknown individual who was capable of using incredibly cruel magic, having to have an escort – a young boy, at that – to go anywhere outside Raven's Keep, dealing with rumors and whispers about what she might be willing to do or how someone had "had their way with her", finding out that her assailants had not been punished but were _honored_ for their deeds, and of course, being attacked by a security troll.

In each of these situations, the Etoile of Beauxbations had tried to understand what it was that drove people to this madness, had tried to do the right thing – and here, when she was reporting what happened to the instructors, she was being treated as if she was a criminal. As if, instead of being a victim, she had deliberately gone out there looking for a troll – or the selma they would not admit existed – on information she'd seduced out of someone, as if she was some dark, manipulative witch – as people often thought of Veela.

And that, piled on top of everything else...it was too much...

"Fils de pute!" the part-Veela snarled, her wand in her hand and pointed at the center of Headmaster Karkaroff's chest before anyone could stop it. "T'es un salaud! C'est vraiment des conneries! _**Conf**_ —"

Only Shinji's quick, wordless intervention stopped the enraged French Champion from causing a major diplomatic incident by casting a – presumably deadly – spell against the Headmaster of Durmstrang and causing a major diplomatic incident by freezing her in place.

"That is enough," Shinji stated blandly, though the Potions Champion's glare was fixed not at Fleur but at Karkaroff. In the silence after the shock of Fleur's actions – and his – the boy's words seemed loud as gunshots. " _Enough_ , I say. We did not come here to be interrogated, insulted, and mocked, Headmaster Karkaroff. And after what happened, neither of us are in the mood to endure it, so I suggest you do not test our patience."

Taken aback by such directness, Karkaroff needed a moment to collect himself, before glaring down at the boy.

"This is not Hogwarts, boy..." the Headmaster of Durmstrang said, his tone low and almost threatening. "Champion though you may be, you cannot threaten me, at my school, and expect to get away with it. I should have you removed from here."

"For saving your life?" Shinji shot back, with Karkaroff blinking in confusion. "You provoked this confrontation, Headmaster. Because you're absolutely right – this isn't Hogwarts. At Hogwarts, Headmaster Flitwick always goes out of his way to try to find out what really happened, and gives the student involved the benefit of the doubt. Especially when they have the courage to report an incident and have been through a very long day."

"You—"

"Igor, please, let me handle this," Professor Flitwick insisted quietly, as the Headmaster of Durmstrang stood down. "I understand these events have been trying to everyone involved. Mister Matou, Miss Delacour, I apologize if you feel offended by Igor's words – but the fact of the matter is that we have heard these reports as well."

"...from who?" Shinji asked sharply, a definite _edge_ to his voice.

"...you know I cannot say that," Flitwick said quietly. "Just as I wish no harm to come to you, I do not wish to see reprisals either."

"Just so," Karkaroff interjected. "The reports have come from members – and officers – of each of the three Banners. You may dislike me as much as you wish, boy, but I – and they – have no reason to lie about this, whereas you do. Even so, I suppose if I have offended Miss Delacour's oh-so-delicate sensibilities, I do apologize. _This_ time."

"Igor…" Flitwick sighed. "Mister Matou, would you mind releasing your fellow Champion? We do apologize if she feels offended, but we are here to investigate the truth."

With a _look,_ Shinji released Fleur from his bind, with the girl forcing herself to relax and lowering her wand as she glanced over towards him.

"Let us dispense with these preliminaries then," Karkaroff said brusquely, changing the topic entirely. "You saw what the troll was guarding, I presume?"

"A selma. Presumably something to do with the first task of the Tournament," Fleur replied, keeping her tone low and even, despite the stiffness of her frame and the rage in her eyes. "That's what you're concerned with, oui?"

"...indeed," Karkaroff admitted. "That is in fact why we rented a number of security trolls to begin with, to keep students away from the lake to ensure there would be no danger to them, as selmas do have a taste for human flesh. Expensive things too, especially if one is to simply go missing..."

Durmstrang, after all, certainly did not raise or train security trolls, despite the presence of mountain trolls on the island. Like others that needed them, they paid a hefty fee to the few firms which trained them, and for a purportedly low-risk job (such as keeping students away from an area), if a troll were to disappear, without any conclusive proof of something untowards happening, then the client would need to pay the full price of raising and training the troll, as well as any projected revenue it might have earned in the future.

For a moment, he just looked at the two, as if testing their will and resolve, nodding brusquely as if – somewhat – satisfied.

"I suppose, since the two of you will not change your story, we will give you the benefit of the doubt," Karkaroff said at last. "Still, for the sake of fairness, I think it would only be just for us to inform the other Tri-Wizard Champions of the first task. After all, it would not do to allow a competitor to get ahead through some unethical means – or what may appear to be unethical means, now would it, Miss Delacour?"

"No, it would not," Fleur forced herself to say.

"Then I take it you have no objections if I inform the others about the selma, to give everyone...a level playing field?"

"No," the part-Veela declared, her voice as hard as iron.

"Very well then. Mister Matou, you are dismissed. Miss Delacour, please remain behind. I will summon the other Champions shortly."

With a glance towards Fleur to make sure she would be ok, Shinji bowed and took his leave.

* * *

That evening, the champions of the Banner of Ravens found themselves gathered in the VIP common room for one of their meetings to discuss culture and other such, though not for anything pleasant this time, given that Fleur had returned from the meeting of the Tri-Wizard Champions quite…apoplectic over how she had been treated.

She was – without a doubt – the victim in the matter, given that she had been attacked, and yet she had been accused of going out looking for trouble, of seeking an unfair advantage with ill-gotten information, as if she was some kind of criminal.

"I've always found that a good spar helps me feel better after a long day," Rachelle Sondrol commented, with her husky contralto drawing the others' attention. "Perhaps that would help you as well, Miss Delacour? I, for one, would relish a chance to face another Champion and see what she is capable of."

"Mm." Fleur glanced uneasily at Rachelle Lestrange, the Etoile Noire of Beauxbatons, who shook her head, as she was more than a little intimidated by her fellow champion from Beauxbatons. "I…"

"Do not worry, Fleur. I will simply observe," the petite Alchemist interjected. "Or I will seek one of ze others to spar with after. So if you wish to do zis, you need not fear my response."

"I suppose I don't mind," Shinji said, with Fleur frowning slightly as she looked at him. "Who would you like to face first, then?" he asked, only to be surprised as the Veela pointed her wand at _him._ "Any particular reason?"

"…because I am certain you could survive if I attacked with everything I had, and right now, zat is what I need," the part-Veela replied, something dark in her voice. "Is zat acceptable to you, or do you wish to impose…conditions, Mister Matou?"

Shinji just smiled a small, dangerous smile as he drew his wand and wordlessly allowed it to expand to the length of a staff, as his fellow Potions Champions looked on with interest.

"Well, when you ask so nicely, Miss Delacour, how could I possibly refuse?" Matou Shinji asked with a smirk calculated to provoke her. "Shall we, then?"

"Let us at least move to the private training area attached to the basement of the Keep," Rachelle Sondrol cut in. "It would be best if we didn't end up destroying the furniture in the Common Room or otherwise damaging it, after all, since we would be the ones to fix it."

"…point," Shinji allowed, with Fleur grudgingly nodding and lowering her wand.

"Follow me," the statuesque redhead requested, as she tapped what seemed to be a blank section of wall in a certain order, with the wall sliding aside to reveal a fairly cavernous room, bare of any luxuries or furniture whatsoever, save for something like a dueling stage.

"Duelists, to your places," Rachelle Sondrol intoned, with Shinji and Fleur moving to the spots she indicated. "Do try not to destroy the stage. Replacing it requires far too much paperwork for Andreas' liking."

"No guarantees," Shinji quipped.

"I was afraid you'd say that," the redhead noted with a wry smile. "Duelists, bow. Ready? Begin!"

Shinji's staff snapped up to absorb a torrent of fire pouring from Fleur's hands, as the battle was joined. In the end, each of them would fight – and defeat – Fleur, after she had gone all out, venting her rage at the nearest convenient target, with the girl collapsing from exhaustion after her final encounter with Rachelle Sondrol, who then carried her back to her room, leaving Shinji alone with the petite Alchemist, Rachelle Lestrange.

"Zank you for protecting Fleur," the Potions Champion of Beauxbations said to the Japanese boy. "And for agreeing to 'elp her." She hesitated for a moment, something flickering behind her silver eyes as she made up her mind about something. "Vould you join me for a walk, Champion Matou?" she asked him, her voice soft and almost gentle, compared to when he'd heard it last. "And perhaps for a spar under ze stars? I would like to talk about…zings."

Shinji swallowed, finding his mouth dry despite himself.

"I…uh…yes," he managed eloquently, as he bowed to the young Alchemist. "I would be honored to join you."


	34. Drama and Discord

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 34.** _Drama and Discord_

In a clearing on the isle of Svalbard, some distance from the great castle of Durmstrang, the Potions Champion of Hogwarts stood with his arms akimbo, looking with some amusement at a single _ofuda_ seemingly suspended in the mid-air.

With a shake of his head, the boy sighed and wordlessly released the command on his talisman, with the form of George Weasley becoming visible, shifting back into a form of flesh and blood cloaked in ink-black robes, as the slip of paper came free from what had been his forehead and fluttered to the snowy ground.

"…again," the older Stone Cutter groaned, a look of shock and dismay gracing his features. "I lost _again_."

"So you did," Matou Shinji said simply, with the Japanese boy regarding his fellow Champion with a pitiless golden gaze. "To be honest, I'm actually disappointed." He almost chuckled at the expression of surprise and hurt that flickered across his friend's face. Almost – though he managed to hold it back, lest he wound the older boy's ego far worse than he already had. "Not in the fact that I won, of course," he added, before George could get the wrong idea. "But in how easily it was done."

The Tri-Wizard Champion of Hogwarts was silent as he knelt down, reaching out to pick up the instrument of his undoing: the lone harmless-seeming _ofuda_ with which Matou had defeated him.

"...I thought I'd become stronger," the Weasley boy murmured as his fingers closed on the slip of paper, which he raised to the level of his eyes _._ "That after all I had done, how far I had come from what I was, I might have at last surpassed you." The redhead shook his head and sighed as he rose to his full height, looking not at his fellow Stone Cutter, but upon what he held between his fingers. "And yet...and yet I was undone by a single one of your talismans. A single _ofuda_ , when even a mass of them could not stop me before."

George's jaw clenched tightly as he looked down at the frozen ground on which he stood, then to the sky, and then to his often confounding friend.

"How?" he asked, his voice laced with something far darker than mere disappointment. "How did I…?"

"How did you lose?" Shinji supplied, not altogether unkindly. "It's simple, really, and it wasn't because you were weak, George."

"It…what?"

The redhead blinked, unsure if he'd heard Matou properly. It was undeniable that he'd lost against the Potions Champion, _far_ more easily than he had any other time they had clashed, so what did the Japanese boy mean?

"Once you reach a certain level, a battle is not decided by how much power you possess, but the concepts behind your abilities – and behind those of your opponent," Shinji continued, his voice almost distant as he recalled some of the earliest things he'd learned about thaumaturgy. "Taking on spirit form is certainly a useful trick, and against most of our peers, whose witchcraft cannot interfere with things of spirit, it would a powerful thing indeed. But…"

"But not against you," George supplied with a bitter almost-smile, as his mind – coupled with his close examination of the talisman he held – filled in the blanks, with the flecks of gold in his eyes fading away, leaving him looking more like himself once more. "Because your _ofuda_ don't simply bind flesh, do they?"

"Indeed," Shinji confirmed, the gold glow of his gaze fading away to grey as he smiled at last. "In fact, Onmyōdō, the Craft underlying much of what I do, was first developed so that Eastern practitioners could fight spirits and other inhuman things. Things like what you saw in Aokigahara."

The elder Stone Cutter shuddered as he remembered some of the _onryō_ he had encountered – and fought – while in spirit form, as well as how the Fujou members of the expedition had both been armed with _hama yumi,_ or "evil destroying bows" which had proven to be potent anti-spirit weapons.

"…having been there, I can see why that might be," George acknowledged, recalling how he had been more affected by the repulsion field created by Fujou Kohaku's bow in spirit form than when he wore his body of flesh and blood. "Which I suppose means that in my spirit form, I wasn't less vulnerable to your attacks, but _more._ And since I didn't realize that…"

"You didn't defend yourself. You didn't even know you had to defend yourself, since you couldn't read my mind," Shinji said, tapping his temple with a slight smile. "And so, even though you are certainly more powerful than you were, you lost."

"I see," George noted heavily, shaking his head. "I see," the Stone Cutter repeated as he began to chuckle, quietly at first, before getting louder and louder. "It wasn't that I had become weaker. It was that I misjudged your abilities – misjudged your _capacity_."

Had he thought to – had he realized Shinji's _ofuda_ could be a threat to him – the _satori-_ bonded Weasley could certainly have defended himself from them without too much trouble. Or so he thought, at least, given that a quick _Incendio_ had proven rather effective in the past.

"You wouldn't be the first," Shinji replied with a mirthless smile. "Which is about the only reason I'm still alive after…the mild unpleasantness I experienced this summer."

"Unpleasantness?" George repeated. "What—"

"—yes, unpleasantness, and no, I'm not going to go into it," the Boy from the East confirmed. "Not now, anyway."

Granted, his altercation with his grandfather and his estrangement from his family probably went beyond mere _unpleasantness_ , but that was all he really felt comfortable saying to anyone who wasn't Luna or Sion or the Maiden of the Tree.

"What's important is that I'm alive – and that…the person who wanted me dead _isn't_ because I knew what he could do – and I knew the limits of my abilities," Shinji continued after a pause. "Be thankful I beat you today, in a duel where the only thing you lose is your pride, because if you'd learned your weakness in a life or death battle…"

"Point very much taken, Matou," George said, with a touch more respectfully than before. "I will certainly not make the mistake of underestimating you again, or doing the same with other unfamiliar skills." He chuckled briefly. "Especially if they wear the title of Champion – though I rather thought the specialty of Potion Champions was supposed to be brewing."

"They, you say?" Shinji inquired, his expression as something about the redhead's last sentence had struck Matou as rather odd. "You've encountered another Champion then, I take it?"

"Ah…but that…would be telling," the redhead chided, waggling a finger at his younger friend.

"Much like you told the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons about what happened in our first year? Or about…Sokaris?" the Japanese boy shot back, eyes narrowing as he crossed his arms.

George took a step back as both of his eyebrows surged skyward. For a moment, the older boy considered denying it, seeing as his friend was visibly…annoyed by this, but…

"…something like that, yes," the Tri-Wizard Champion of Hogwarts admitted, deciding that it would be _unwise_ to provoke Matou, especially given what he knew about the Japanese boy's attachment to their fallen friend. "Did she tell you it was me?"

"No, but there was only one possible culprit," Shinji stated bluntly. "One possible person who could have both known the name of 'Eltnam' and been in a position to reveal such a thing to her. Fred wouldn't, given how he seems to buy into Britain's xenophobia. Harry wouldn't, given that I doubt he would do anything _too_ reckless, given his position. But you have been sneaking around…"

The boy shook his head.

"What I can't place, of course, is _why_?" the Japanese boy said at last, his voice soft and incredibly dangerous at that moment. "Why approach a fellow Champion – one of my direct competitors, mind you – and reveal something like that?"

"I could ask you the same thing," George replied, in a much more reasonable tone. "After all, you were the one who volunteered to be Miss Delacour's bodyguard, are you not? And who knows what secrets you might have revealed?" Before Matou could say anything in his defense though, George held up a hand to forestall any protests. "…but since you're curious, I had two reasons," he continued after a pause, much more softly. "First, I wanted to know if Miss Lestrange knew anything about Sokaris' family, since she calls herself an Alchemist, like our dearly departed friend."

"And the second?"

"I don't know if you know this, wee Matou, but…she's dangerous."

"We're all dangerous. We wouldn't be champions if we weren't," Shinji said plainly. "That doesn't explain—"

"—she trapped me in spirit form and forced me to reveal my identity at the point of…a sword, and that's after sensing me somehow," George admitted, as a shadow of a scowl crossed his features. "I don't know how she managed it, either, which bothers me."

"Because if she can, someone else might be able to?" the Boy from the East questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Someone who isn't me – or a Fujou, or Luna?"

"Lovegood can…" the redhead repeated, startled for a moment, before he nodded, shaking his head. "Right, what am I saying? She has a familiar, just like you. And fusion, too."

Which didn't explain Gilderoy Lockhart, of course, though the Hogwarts Tri-Wizard Champion wasn't as bothered by _him_ as Miss Lestrange, given that Lockhart was, after all, an experienced and powerful wizard who was not only Britain's greatest adventurer, but also the fairly reliable keeper of a great many of the Stone Cutters' secrets.

"Right," Shinji commented, shaking his head. "She forced you to show yourself at sword-point, huh?"

"At the point of an alchemically-forged blade, one that I'm fairly certain can affect spirits – like your _ofuda,_ " George supplied, as he recalled the incident. "She didn't even use a wand in the entire encounter."

"Really?" the Boy from the East asked, as this caught his attention, though oddly enough, it just made him smile.

' _Very much like a magus – or an Alchemist, as she has already admitted. I wonder exactly what she and her family learned from…the man who would become TATARI.'_

"Yes. You probably don't need me telling you this, but it's probably not a good idea to underestimate her. And good looking or not, Matou…she's dangerous."

"That much I had already figured out," Shinji noted wryly.

One could hardly spend time around Rachelle Lestrange without doing so, though unlike many others, he wasn't intimidated by her or scared of what she could do. Not when, for the first time in years, he had met someone in this world of witchcraft who was an Alchemist, who might be a good source of knowledge, if he had something to offer in exchange, and who was…very much like him, in many ways.

"Good," George said with a sense of finality, as he bowed and faded from sight once more. "But before I go," his disembodied voice called out, almost as an afterthought, "do you have any recommendations on how to best increase my combat potential? I mean, it isn't as if you have a way to let me go back to _Mahoutokoro_ and learn from the masters there, but if there's anything you think could help me be a better Champion or better at supporting our brothers-in-arms in battle…"

Given that the root of George's newfound powers were derived from two things – his bond with a _satori_ and the ring he bore – both of which had been acquired in Japan, Shinji was tempted to say that there might well be a way he could go to _Mahoutokoro_ , as he imagined that the Tsuchimikado heiress – who was also bonded to a _satori_ – could greatly help him to improve, but thought better of it, given the security risk it posed.

It was bad enough that George sometimes followed him – and maybe followed Harry or Pansy – back to Hogwarts. If his friend had a reason to linger for long periods of time, his absence might well be noted, especially if there was an emergency involving the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and that could lead to rather uncomfortable questions being asked.

' _Which just means that anything I suggest has to be something he can work on while at Durmstrang. But what?'_

For a moment, Shinji's mind wandered to the tomes he had acquired on the forbidden art of necromancy at the auction of the Black Collection last year, tomes he wasn't really using at the moment and had paid quite a tidy sum to gain. Perhaps, with his spirit affinities, George could benefit from such a thing…?

' _No, the first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament will begin in a matter of weeks, so it would be…counterproductive to distract George by offering him an entirely different branch of magic to learn. It has to be something related to what he can already do…'_

"Well, I'm sure Pansy could use a sparring partner when she's here, given that I'll probably be too preoccupied with guarding Miss Delacour or preparations for the Potions Competition to serve in that capacity," Shinji offered at last. Parkinson was, after all, not only one of Lockhart's apprentices, with a rather unorthodox style of combat involving runes and dagger wands that had caused _him_ some trouble, and might do the same to George. "That and work on learning the limits of your power, since in the end it isn't how powerful you are that counts, but what you do with that power."

"So noted," the voice of George Weasley intoned. "Thank you for the advice, Matou. This has been most…illuminating."

With that, the Tri-Wizard Champion was gone, leaving Matou Shinji to reflect on how the encounter had gone. Quite frankly, he had expected more from his friend, given what he'd learned from his duel with the Tsuchimikado heiress, but he supposed that Hokuto had the benefit of years of experience, while George was still fairly new to this, even if his fellow Stone Cutter was hungry for knowledge.

' _What did you think of all that, Zelkova?'_ he asked his familiar, who had remained silent throughout the encounter, and was simply resting in astral form within his living staff.

' _I think he reminds me of you, Master, as you once were,'_ the _kodama_ 's voice spoke in his head. _'But I also think he feels far more like a_ youkai _than a human than he did when witnessed his duel with the one you call Tomas.'_

' _Oh? Is that…usual for someone bonded with a satori?'_

' _No, Master, it is not.'_

' _Interesting. Do you think it's the ring?'_ Shinji wondered, given that George did seem to be rather possessive of it, and if George had obtained it from _Asplund's Shop of Horrors_ , well…then it was likely a potent artifact. _'And more to the point, do you think he knows?'_

' _To the first, most likely, Master. To the second, I am uncertain.'_

' _I see. In the end, that is George's affair. For us, it is time to return to Hogwarts. Given some of the rumors, the new troll incident, and what I've learned today, I need Lockhart's advice.'_

* * *

That would be the boy's second time passing the Vanishing Cabinet connection back to Hogwarts day, with the Aurors manning the security checkpoint curious as to why he was coming their way again – as was Percy Weasley, who had waited for him outside the room where the Cabinet was stored.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Champion Matou," Percy said somewhat stiffly, clad in the black and silver robes that marked him as a trainee in the army, emblazoned with a wand crossed with a bolt of lightning.

"Trainee-Commander Weasley," Shinji responded with a slight bow. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"A message from the Minister," the other answered simply, withdrawing a slim envelope from his robes and passing it to the Japanese boy, who looked at it curiously, raising an eyebrow as he saw that it was stamped with the seal of the Ministry. "I delivered one to Miss Lovegood that was much like it."

"May I…?" Shinji asked, glancing at the envelope. "Or is this something that I should read in private?"

"Either is fine, Champion Matou," the Trainee-Commander replied. "It would be more convenient if you were to read it now, given that the Ministry would appreciate knowing your response. And since you lack the ability to send mail in Britain, as a foreigner…"

"Mm," Shinji grunted, wordlessly breaking the seal and withdrawing the enclosed letter, which he read with a hint of curiosity and surprise.

It seemed that the Ministry had commissioned a play from the headmaster of the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts, inspired by the accounts of the Stone Cutters' clash with – and defeat of – a Dark Wizard deep below Hogwarts in their first year. Their struggle – and victory – against forces far greater than themselves, the letter stated, showed that in unity there was strength enough to defeat even the strongest of enemies – and that heroism was not simply a matter of one's abilities, but one's choices.

As one of the Stone Cutters, and as Potions Champion of Hogwarts, Shinji had been invited to the premiere of the performance, to be hosted at Hogwarts in a week's time, along with a social event to follow, involving the cast and crew of the production, the press, and dignitaries from all over Wizarding Britain.

"It is the hope of Minister Malfoy that you will be able to attend," Percy broke in, his expression solemn. "In these trying times, it would do a fair bit of good to see Britain's heroes standing together, wouldn't it?"

After what he had been through at the hands of the press, Shinji was tempted to ask why the Minister hadn't intervened on his behalf if that was really his attitude, but something stopped him.

"Who…?"

"It was Mister Potter who came up with the idea, actually, in collaboration with Department Head Greengrass," Percy revealed with a nod. "He thought of it as a way to honor the memory of Robert Hillard, your fellow Stone Cutter, who…" The young man trailed off, shaking his head. When he spoke again, his voice was far softer, and deeply respectful. "Robert saved my life, and that of hundreds of others when werewolves and giants attacked the Quidditch World Cup this summer. But in doing so, he lost his own. And to think _I_ was supposed to be the Gryffindor, and him the logical, reasoning Ravenclaw…"

"I see…"

"Will you attend, then?" the Trainee-Commander inquired. "I – _we_ – realize you have much to do, so we wanted to get an answer from you before you disappeared again."

"It would be my honor to attend," Shinji responded with a bow. "You may inform the Ministry, and other relevant parties, of such."

"Splendid," Percy said, a small smile crossing his features, though it quickly faded. "On a more…personal level, have you heard anything about my brothers and how they are doing at Durmstrang? I've read about the rumors surrounding George and his sense of justice, but nothing of Fred, though I didn't expect to, since he isn't Tri-Wizard Champion."

"Unfortunately, neither have I," the Japanese boy replied, shaking his head. "I've been rather busy as of late, as you know, and haven't really had the chance to listen to gossip. Nor can I simply approach Fred, since he's in the Banner of the Wolf, not that of the Raven."

"I see," Percy noted with a nod. "Thank you all the same." The Trainee-Commander turned to go, before hesitating. "Matou."

"Yes?"

"I just want you to know that I don't believe what the _Prophet_ is saying about you, what with their hogwash about you being seduced by a Veela and corrupting my brother with foreign influences and foreign arts," the older boy said quietly. "Robert spoke well of you, after all, and after he died so I could live, it would be…dishonorable if I didn't at least give you the benefit of the doubt, Stone Cutter."

"…thank you."

Percy left after that, with Shinji shaking his head as he headed towards the Grand Staircase, which would lead him _eventually_ to Lockhart's office, given that if there was a play to be had at Hogwarts, he was sure the man was involved with it somehow.

* * *

As he walked through the halls of Hogwarts, nodding respectfully to the patrols passing by, Shinji thought back to what had happened when he'd first come back to Hogwarts earlier that evening, when he'd sensed something following him from the Vanishing Cabinet, something that hadn't been detected by the simple precautions used by the security checkpoint – including the standard _Homenum Revelio_ , which ensured no one who wasn't authorized could simply sneak between countries disillusioned or with the aid of an invisibility cloak.

He had thought that it might be Peeves passing by on his way to perform some prank, but when the presence continued to follow him after he changed direction away from the staircase, mirroring his movements, the boy had called upon some of Zelkova's power and whirled about, his eyes flashing gold as the colors of the world fell away – and a brilliant blue figure in the shape of a man appeared in his vision, with the blue flecks of light trailing back to the Vanishing Cabinet indicating that whoever it was had followed him from Durmstrang.

This hadn't been Harry or Pansy, he knew, since the figure was too large to be either of them, and neither would need to _sneak_ through the security checkpoint, since they were authorized to use the Vanishing Cabinet. Somehow, Shinji didn't think it was Lockhart either, though, given that he was fairly certain that if the man were following him, the Assassin would leave no sign of his presence.

Blue meant that his pursuer was friendly however, so Matou Shinji had simply looked at the apparition behind him for a long moment before nodding and turning about, changing direction as he headed towards Founders' Tower, beckoning the other to follow.

To his lack of surprise, the other had done so, and as they entered the Tower, with the path sealing behind them, had materialized, revealing himself to be none other than George Weasley.

"...you saw me," George noted, curiosity and surprise writ large across his features as he fingered his ring of power. " _That_ hasn't happened in a long while."

Rachelle Lestrange had _sensed_ him, yes, but he didn't think she'd _seen_ him, which was a whole other level of concern…

"Not since you obtained your ring from Asplund?" Shinji had inquired somewhat mildly, with the look of shock that came across George's features being all that was necessary to confirm his story. "I'm hardly surprised. But anyway, what brings you to Hogwarts? Illegally, mind you."

"Can't I have just dropped by because I missed the food?" the older Stone Cutter had asked with a look of perfect innocence, with Shinji just fixing the older boy with a glare, as the query wasn't worth dignifying with a verbal response. "Well, alright. The food was only part of it," George had admitted after a moment. "I came because I thought we needed to chat, Matou."

"About what, may I ask?" Shinji had inquired. "The Selma, perhaps. I'm sure Karkaroff already told you what you needed to know before the First Task."

"The troll, more like," George had corrected. "Though the selma does seem a bit of a scary beastie. Worse than the spiders by far."

"I don't really envy you having to face that, no," Shinji had said dryly. "Though it actually just makes me a bit more nervous, since the Potions Competition is said to be even more challenging than the Tri-Wizard Tournament. If you have to face a Selma, what awaits me on the isle? But you were asking about the troll."

"I was," George had confirmed. "The first time we fought a troll, it took five of us – six with Peeves – to beat one. The second time, it took most of us, and that was when we were expecting the troll. But this one attacked you and Miss Delacour without warning, so…how did you beat it, presuming you didn't use fusion. Was it…" And here the boy smiled thinly. "…her abilities? Is she perhaps better against creatures than human assailants?"

"That's not something I can say, really," Shinji had demurred. "Despite how much time I spend with Fleur, I haven't told her about your abilities, and I doubt she'd want me to tell you about hers."

George's smile had only grown colder and thinner.

"'Fleur', is it?" the Stone Cutter had asked sardonically. "I didn't know wee Matou was getting close to yet another lovely lady, just as the rumors say. Especially as wee Matou goes back to Hogwarts to see Lovegood so often, and Parkinson too, no doubt."

"It's not like that and you know it," Shinji had stated bluntly, not really wanting to deal with this sort of thing. "Still, it isn't my place to reveal what she can do."

"I see," George had murmured. "How very odd. She didn't seem that impressive when I saw her fight last..."

"Saw her fight?" Shinji had echoed. "And when would you have..." But then the boy had trailed off, his words dying on his lips as he made a realization. "I see. It was you that night. The one who stopped the ambush on Fleur and Krum."

"It was," George had confirmed, his eyes grim. "As it was I who informed the Wolf Commander of the incident afterwards. Anonymously, of course."

There were a number of things Shinji could have said to that, but in the end he settled for a single word.

"…impressive."

A word that was true enough, given that if George had done half of what the Hufflepuffs claimed he had, it meant he had become quite a bit more powerful than he had been.

"I suppose you might think so," George had replied, seeming somewhat...dissatisfied. "I don't. They were not a suitable test of my capacity, after all. Fools lacking skill, relying on numbers to down their _betters_. Defeating them was trivial."

"I see," Shinji had allowed. "And the reason you didn't reveal yourself to Durmstrang? I'm sure both they and Beauxbatons would have thanked you for it."

"They perhaps," George had said with a mirthless chuckle. "But Britain would not. While I do not much care about what people think, it is more convenient to be thought of as a non-entity than a Dark Wizard who has turned against one's homeland, or a hero who has been seduced by a Veela into fighting his own, as you might know. It wouldn't do if people attacked Gin-gin because of what _I_ did, would it?"

The Japanese boy had growled as he recalled what the _Prophet_ had said about _him_.

"Besides, I don't want my competitors to think themselves indebted to me because I happened to be in the right place at the right time," the older Stone Cutter had continued. "And letting the public believe it was either the staff or an unknown enemy makes would be troublemakers more…cautious, wouldn't you say? Fear is a potent weapon to keep people decent, after all."

"...decent people _are_ seemingly in short supply these days, with the way Britain's training for war and raging against the world," Shinji had mused, as he shook his head. "All that aside, however, why not reveal yourself to me earlier? Why wait till now to follow silently, with whatever trick you're using to avoid detection?"

"Because you are a hard person to find, and harder to corner alone at Durmstrang," George had stated bluntly. "You are often in the company of Miss Delacour, after all, taking long walks under the stars or such. It was by chance I happened to see you as you were heading back to Hogwarts today, and I followed without speaking to test _your_ capacity." The redhead had smiled slyly at that. "One has to make sure that the easy life of being a Champion and enjoying the luxuries of your station haven't softened you, after all. I didn't think it would, knowing you, but I wanted to be sure."

"You wanted to see if I could see you while you are more spirit than flesh," Shinji had supplied, deducing the purpose of the test. "Given that very few others can."

"Indeed. You have a familiar after all, as do I."

"So does Fred," Shinji had replied. "Why not test him?"

"I think you know why. He and I do not agree on a number of things anymore," George had admitted. "And I have not seen him with his _tanuki_ in a long time."

"Curious. I haven't really thought about it, but…do you know where his familiar might be?" Shinji had wondered.

"No, I don't," George had said. "I know he brought Maeve with him from Japan, but after that, no. I haven't seen her since – I thought maybe she had run away into the Forbidden Forest after he neglected her for his…conquests and his training."

"I see. Tell me, George, are you aware of the rumors about Fleur?" Shinji had asked, a thoughtful expression on his face. "About how she's been sneaking into other Banners and having her way with people? Well, that's not exactly possible since I – or someone else – have been with her whenever she's not in the Banner of Ravens. I was thinking perhaps someone was deliberately sabotaging her reputation, but if it is a _tanuki…"_

"Yes?"

" _Tanuki_ can take on another's form and powers, George," the Japanese boy had explained. "They're shapeshifters who can become almost anyone or _anything_."

"So in Miss Delacour's form…"

"She would not only look like Fleur, but would possess the powers of a Veela," Shinji had filled in, with George looking quite thoughtful. "It's…possible that Maeve didn't actually run away, but is hiding in plain sight, among the student body. And that at present, she is at Durmstrang…"

"How curious."

"How curious indeed," the Boy from the East had repeated, shaking his head as he took in his friend's posture – more confident, steady, powerful than he had been before. "I know it's a lot to ask, but if you could keep an eye out for any doppelgangers in your wanderings…"

For a moment, silence had lingered between the two of them before George spoke.

"Very well," the older boy had said with a quirk of his lips. "Finding a shapeshifter? That should be an interesting test of my capacity, though I would want something in exchange."

"Oh?"

"I wasn't entirely kidding about the food, you know," George had continued. "House Elves still cook a sight better than what usually comes out of the Mess Hall of Durmstrang, given the skill – or lack of – most of the students have. I suppose I also wouldn't mind a chance to talk and catch up on things, since it has been a good while since we Stone Cutters have done so, and there really isn't a chance for that at Durmstrang." The _satori_ -user had smirked as he glanced over at Shinji. "Perhaps dinner in the Kitchens, at least if I won't be interrupting your plans for a romantic evening with wee little Lovegood?"

"I suppose that's doable," Shinji had replied, thinking it would be interesting – and that he could always spend some alone time with Luna after. "Anything else?"

"…yes, actually," George had said. "I am curious as to how our powers compare with one another after all this time. You can see me, yes, but…can you beat me?"

"You want a duel, do you?"

"Yes," the _satori-_ user had intoned. "Would this be possible, Matou? Or is it too much to ask?"

"…no, it's certainly possible, and I'm curious too," Shinji had admitted. "How about after dinner, back at Durmstrang, since there's no suitable place for such at Hogwarts – especially since you're not supposed to be here at all?"

"Fair. I accept your…conditions, Matou. This should be…most enlightening."

And so it had proved, with Shinji defeating George rather handily, due to the _satori-_ user overestimating himself, before returning to Hogwarts.

' _He has grown quite a bit since last we fought. But has he grown too much? Gone too far?'_

That, Shinji didn't know.

* * *

"I hope you are aware of how many people have their eyes on you, Matou?" Lockhart asked, looking up from some paperwork as the Japanese boy entered his office and took a seat in front of the desk. "As a Champion and Representative of Britain – a curious thing, since you are a foreign national – what you do can have severe repercussions, if you are not careful."

"Yes, mentor," Shinji said deferentially. "I am aware of that."

Lockhart, dressed in rust-red robes himself, held his gaze for a moment and nodded.

"See that you remain so," the Assassin advised. "And that you work on your Occlumency, given the circles you will soon be moving in. As for the _other_ matter…"

"Yes?"

"It occurs to me that the _Book of Potions_ is capable of storing items within its pages, is it not?" Lockhart inquired. "Items which no one would be able to readily detect? Beyond the knowledge it holds, and the soul bound within it, do not underestimate its worth."

"…I'll keep that in mind," Shinji noted.

"As you know, I am a student of history myself," the Assassin said, glancing at a map of Europe, on which certain locations had been marked. "This current bout of… _extremism_ is likely to be a temporary state of affairs, and in its wake, there will likely be a need for those with closer ties with other governments. Britain may have removed itself from the authority of the ICW, but…"

"It hasn't removed itself from the world."

"Indeed," Lockhart acknowledged. "The world is far different from how it was when the power of the Church was unrivaled in all of Europe. As I rather suspect you know."

"…you know about the Church, Professor?" Shinji asked with a start.

"I know a great many things, my young apprentice, as you have no doubt realized." The man shook his head, glancing over at a stack of books on war and strategy in the corner of the room. "I suspect we both know things others would not, given our experiences, but…that knowledge is only useful if it is applied."

"Just so," the Boy from the East noted. "Speaking of experiences – are you at all involved with the play being written about the Stone Cutters? I ask because officially, you're our biographer and all, and so…"

"You are concerned about how characters such as Sialim Sokaris will be portrayed, given the anti-foreigner sentiment?" Lockhart inquired, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"…well. Yes," Shinji admitted.

"I have been contracted to create a novelization of the play, though I have little sway over the contents of the drama," Lockhart answered, raising an eyebrow. "I would not worry overmuch, however, given that the script was developed with some assistance from your friend, Mister Potter, and that the highly coveted role of Sialim Sokaris – is to be played by someone who knew both her – and you – quite well."

Shinji swallowed as his thoughts raced. There was only person in Wizarding Britain for whom _that_ description fit, after all, and they hadn't…parted on the best of terms.

"You mean…you mean to say that Sokaris will be played by…"

"Your former companion, Hermione Granger."


	35. Illumination

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 35.** _Illumination_

Samuel G. Quahog, the powerfully-built African American wizard who served as President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America (MACUSA), was privy to a great many secrets the average practitioner of witchcraft was not. Some were the usual things associated with being the nominal head of the American wizarding government, with the disposition of the MACUSA's military forces, the state of the ongoing (highly classified) research into things man was not meant to know, and the intelligence American agents had managed to gather on possibly hostile factions being among them.

Others, such as a working knowledge of the moonlit world, the threats posed by the machinations of the Templars, and consequently, the fact that wizards and witches were not the only humans who could use magic, were not, and were only known to him because he was a member of the Illuminati.

Had been for over half a century at this point, as he – along with a number of other promising young wizards – had been recruited by one of the secret society's field operatives – a charming, statuesque redhead who'd called herself Anastasia – during the final days of the Great Depression.

At the time, Samuel hadn't known Anastasia had been an Illuminatus, or even that the magic she used was of a different type than his. Given that she had told him "dark days are coming", and with it, opportunities for ambitious and capable wizards willing to keep an open mind, he'd assumed that she was a high-ranking member of the Department of Magical Security interested in putting together an Expeditionary Force to deal with trouble brewing overseas.

She hadn't exactly gone out of her way to dispel that notion at the meeting of like-minded individuals she'd arranged, in which she explained that she represented _certain parties_ who were concerned about the state of affairs in Europe and the Pacific, and was looking for agents interested in combating threats to the nation's security – threats both foreign and domestic.

Given that Samuel had been interested in becoming Director of Magical Security for the MACUSA one day, he hadn't been about to pass up a rare opportunity for combat experience against the worst the world had to offer. Thus it was the man had found himself being trained to work as part of a special operations force with what he had assumed were wizards with…odd abilities led by Anastasia herself, a group which later saw action against magi of the Third Reich armed with powerful artifacts from a bygone past, vampiric super-soldiers with psychokinetic abilities created by the USSR, Templar agents wielding the abilities of Executors, and of course, doomsday cultists who wished to use the violence and many deaths of the war as a blood sacrifice to summon horrors from other realms.

During his term of service, his duties had largely involved special reconnaissance operations, with his unit being tasked with locating targets in a given area of operations and helping to formulate a plan of attack for his heavier hitting comrades.

These he now knew to have been magi and the Imbued, humans who wielded a different brand of magic from his, with both equipped with weapons he had expected to see in the hands of NoMajs – though these, of course, had been highly modified by their Illuminati masters to serve as Mystic Codes.

Magi, as he had learned, lived and worked among NoMajs, with their power derived from something called Magic Circuits, a pseudo-nervous system which converted the world's magical energy into a form they could use, while the latter were…odd, even compared to most wizards. As he had come to understand it, the Imbued – or Gaia's Chosen, as some called them – served as living conduits for the energy of the world itself, granting them not only great power and ability with many branches of magic – but something very much like immortality.

That is, while they could be killed with some difficulty – Samuel had personally seen Anastasia killed before his eyes by a powerful Nazi magus on one of their missions, her chest run through by a lance of white lightning – death did not…stick, as it were. This he had learned when Anastasia had simply returned to life the moment the foe looked away, proceeding to blow the enemy magus' head off with her prana-infused shotgun.

"Who are you?" the young wizard had asked, as he'd stood there, gaping at her disbelievingly, in that room of blood and ashes. "No… _what_ are you?"

"My name is Anastasia Vântoase," she'd replied evenly, brushing some stray flecks of blood from her combat uniform as she surveyed the room for the artifact they'd been assigned to retrieve. "A chosen of Gaia, and an Illuminatus."

Samuel G. Quahog had learned much about the world in that tour of duty, and afterwards, as an Illuminati operative and a war hero, had been instrumental in helping to arrange for the repeal of Rappaport's Law in 1965, easing some of the traditional restrictions on magical creatures and native spellcasters, and enabling more in the way of joint operations between the MACUSA and USA during the Cold War, given their mutual interest in putting an end to the USSR's continued exploration into the occult.

(Such ventures would be overseen by partners among the Illuminati, of course, given their experience with such matters, with some of the more promising individuals of each generation being fully recruited into the secret society.)

He'd come a long way since those early days, working his way up the ranks from field operative to his current position as the Illuminati executive in charge of the affairs of the wizarding portion of the USA, paralleling his rise from a member of the Department of Magical Security to president of the MACUSA – though amusingly enough, despite how far he'd come, he _still_ answered to Anastasia, the current chairwoman of the Illuminati's Board of Directors, along with the others on the Board itself.

A meeting of which he was preparing for now, dressed in formal robes as he sat in the sparsely-decorated, seldom-used office in the Labyrinth that was his by right, reviewing a number of documents his subordinates had prepared.

As the Illuminati's headquarters, the Labyrinth – located in Brooklyn, in the shadow of the Bridge – was one of the most secure places in the world, given that the underground installation was protected through both magical and technological means, but he had to admit that he preferred his office at MACUSA headquarters, given the spaciousness, natural light, and Presidential library he had access to.

' _On the other hand, in the Labyrinth, I have a great deal more privacy, and my subordinates don't usually bother me with trivial affairs they can handle themselves.'_ And of course, there was the joy of being in the very center of things – the seat of power for the organization that guided the magical and mundane sides of America – and the discussions he had with other members of the society. At present though, President Quahog's emotional state was rather less joyful, and rather more put upon. _'It is unwise to refuse a request from the Board, especially one as unusual as an in-person meeting, as if I was but an analyst,'_ the man mused. Oh, he could see why it was necessary, given events like the Quidditch World Cup massacre, Britain's withdrawal from the International Confederation of Wizards, and rumors of unease on the Continent, but it worried him nonetheless. _'Given historical precedents, it is likely they are concerned about possible Templar involvement, or that these events might spark yet another regional conflict that will need to be suppressed.'_

And despite the web of information his…colleagues had access to, thanks to their network of agents and collaborators, the wizarding world had always been somewhat _opaque_ to outsiders by design, especially when it came to things that would only be known to a head of government or an immediate subordinate.

' _We're not_ online, _whatever that means, so Miss Huygens can't simply the pull the relevant records for the Board – or process the information via the usual…algorithms, I think was the term. Not that modernization is exactly something the MACUSA is eager to adopt anytime soon.'_

Before he could begin to dwell on this, however, Samuel G. Quahog was interrupted from his musings by a series of knocks at his office door. That anyone would interrupt a senior executive of the Illuminati was generally unusual of course, but in this case, the interloper was expected, given that the knocks followed the rhythm of the code he'd worked out with his sometimes-assistant some time ago.

"Come in," the President of the MACUSA said with a sigh as he put the file he was reviewing and looked up, smiling crookedly at the sight of the young Sephardic woman who stood in the door way. "Is it that time already, Rebekah?"

"I'm afraid so, sir," the woman replied with an apologetic smile. "Chairwoman Vântoase is requesting your presence in the main conference room."

From looking at her, one wouldn't immediately think of Rebekah Huygens as one of the foremost spirit pacification specialists in America – or as a highly dangerous Illuminati operative trained for special reconnaissance and analysis missions. Samuel, of course, knew better, but then, he had read her file, and having come through special reconnaissance himself, he was quite aware of how innocent-seeming gestures and subtle shifts in body language could be used to make others let down their guard.

' _In addition to her doe-eyed gaze, svelte figure, and the exotic accent she affects sometimes, of course…'_

Were Samuel Quahog a younger, less worldly man, he might have been taken unawares by his assistant's charms, but as an experienced politician – and a highly decorated Illuminatus himself – he knew better than to show any sign of weakness that his peers might seek to take advantage of.

"I suppose I shouldn't keep the good chairwoman waiting," the African-American wizard mused aloud as he stood, closing the file and tucking it under his arm. "Anastasia isn't known for her patience, after all. Whether on or off the field."

This had struck Samuel as rather odd at first, given that an Imbued individual's near immortality meant they had a great deal of time for _everything_ , but he knew better than to question the older woman's drive and eccentricities, given that she was both senior to him in the organization and had saved his life several times over, despite seemingly not aging a day since that tour of duty long ago, and he…certainly had.

"Well, you would know, sir," Miss Huygens replied deferentially, stepping aside to let her superior pass. "You served with her for quite some time, after all." The young operative paused, clearly wanting to say something, but hesitating.

"Yes, Miss Huygens?"

"Is it the Templars?" the young Jewish woman asked, her features sharp and intent as she looked at the Illuminati executive. "Are they why this meeting was called? Are we preparing a joint operation against them? _"_

"…I don't believe that's the case, Miss Huygens. And however hungry you may be for revenge, remember that our greatest enemies are a callous, ruthless lot who have been at this game for a very long time," Samuel Quahog chided his aide. "I know you think it makes them archaic and unable to adapt, but they've proven quite resilient in empowering proxies like the USSR to inconvenience us."

"And you don't think—"

"I don't. Suborning wizarding Britain would be too blatant a move, even for them, and with how insular wizarding society is, it's unlikely." The President of the MACUSA shook his head. "No, I believe there's another player on the field, one whose goals are not known to us at this time. The real question is: what do we do about it?"

"Miss Labelle's mission will continue as planned then?" the brunette questioned, with Samuel nodding simply. "If her services are not needed elsewhere, that is…?"

"It would be rather amiss of us to turn down an invitation to study the ancient isle she has been invited to," the older man noted. "Such an opportunity does not come often, after all. And perhaps in her interactions with the other…champions, she can learn more about what is happening in Europe than we can at a distance."

"Perhaps," Rebekah noted, not entirely convinced. "Though I assume you're also curious what Japan is up to?"

"Yes, that as well," Quahog confirmed, but said no more, as he headed down the metallic corridors of the Labyrinth, towards the conference room in which the Board awaited.

* * *

Back in _Mahoutokoro_ , Fujou Kohaku could be found in the dojo belonging to Kaiduka Shiosai, going through her sword forms, her expression perfectly blank as she cleaved apart balls of cursed flame with the katana in her hand, dispelling them one after another without hesitation, pause, or fear, steel flashing through air again and again and again like clockwork.

For most, it would have been a difficult task to put aside everything but the blade and the movements she had to make, as one would be distracted by fatigue, by the flash of light and heat, by fear of injury or pain, but the redhead was not most people. After all, this was merely something to do because she could – there was no joy she took from succeeding in increasingly difficult exercises, nor any disappointment from failure.

And why should there be?

Succeeding and progressing simply meant there was more to do, while failure meant there was a need to repeat what she had done. There was no need to attach something as unnecessary as emotion to her actions or to the actions of others.

That was something Fujou Kohaku had learned a long time ago, after she and her sister had been taken in by the Tohno family. After Tohno Makihisa had decided his need to stay sane was more valuable than hers, and forced himself on an eight year old child who happened to be a Synchronizer, raping her whenever the need overcame him.

She wanted to run away, and to take Hisui with her, but she knew it was impossible. The monster – Tohno Makihisa – was more powerful than she was, and his family quite capable of finding her if she ran. So Fujou Kohaku had agreed to let the monster take her, if the monster would make her a promise: a promise never to lay a finger on her sister.

The promise was made, and the girl's mind broke so she could endure it, because if it was only a doll being violated, being pushed down, being hurt, then it didn't matter, did it? It wasn't as if she could stop it, no matter how she tried, so what was the point of feeling anything at all?

Things would happen in life, regardless of how one felt, so why bother feeling anything at all?

The days passed, blurring one into the other, until it occurred to that if she simply made sure those who might wish her sister harm were killed, if the Tohnos would just disappear, then Hisui wouldn't have to worry anymore. That Hisui wouldn't have to be afraid – unlike her.

And then one day, she had been freed.

The Fujou heir had overturned her and Hisui's exile from the family, leading to a scene she had never imagined coming true: her and Hisui leaving the Tohno manor together.

The girl called Kohaku had lost her purpose that day.

Fujou Kohaku, as she had been called since, had yet to find one. She could do anything now that she was free – and yet there was nothing she wanted to do. She'd lost the capacity to want anything – to _truly_ want anything, and not just pretend, or to enjoy things – a long time ago.

She excelled in growing plants, in brewing potions, in the art of the sword and in learning the healing arts, but none of it was anything she'd truly wanted for herself. Just what she was good at, and which others had encouraged her to continue.

Kaiduka-san understood that – but then, Kohaku had expected that, since _kitsune_ were masters of illusion. But if he knew that her smiles were only masks, he'd never said as much to anyone else, and seemed content simply sitting with her and asking if there _was_ anything she wanted, because that was a question she could only answer for herself.

Certainly, Kaiduka-dono and his apprentice understood her far better than her clan head, for as good a person as Fujou Shiroe was, he wasn't good at noticing the concerns of those around him. He…seemed to fixate on what he chose to worry about, to the exclusion of everything else around him, but knowing what she did of his life, Kohaku imagined that he was broken too.

That like her, he threw himself into what was expected of him because he needed a purpose.

' _But that is the problem, Shiroe-sama. You have a purpose. I do not.'_

He was the Fujou heir, after all, while she…was no one. Just a doll that had outlived its reason to live, who remained in this world because Hisui would cry if she were to disappear, and she didn't want to make bring tears to her sister's face.

With a last few flowing movements, she finished her exercises, slashing apart a trio of dark fireballs that raced for her before sheathing her sword.

"Thank you, Kuro," she spoke to what seemed like empty air, as her _nekomata_ made itself known, its two tails waving as it shimmered into visibility. She bowed to the familiar. "That is enough, today."

"Nya," the cat responded indifferently, as it sauntered off towards the exit of the dojo, in the direction of her herb garden.

Completely alone now, Fujou Kohaku sat and closed her eyes, clasping her hands together as she assessed her physical vessel for any signs on damage, her fingers brushing the hematite ring that George Weasley had bought her months ago.

' _You should not place such faith in a pretty girl's smile,'_ she'd told him. And yet, for some reason beyond her understanding, he had. Even though she'd told him she was only playing a role. Even though all she'd done for him was show him around, as Kaiduka-dono had requested, keeping him out of trouble.

The way Georg-san looked at her, the way he acted so selflessly, and tried to make her happy, not knowing she felt very little inside – it almost made her think it might be worth it to see if she could regain her humanity.

Almost.

* * *

Elsewhere in _Mahoutokoro,_ Fujou Shiroe was enjoying a quiet afternoon with sitting with his sister Kirie, in the shade of the Great Tree, as they practiced simple brush strokes to refine the movements of their fingers and the flow of ink under the watchful eye of a great white wolf – Shiroe's _tengu_ familiar.

"You seem well, Shiroe," Fujou Kirie noted, with the older, raven-haired woman finding that smiles came to her lips much more easily these days. But then, after many years being confined to a room in the hospital, finally having been released – finally returning to this place of wonders – was a miracle. A miracle that had only been possible because the enigmatic boy named Matou Shinji had given them the Water of Life. Where he had obtained such a thing, neither of them knew, only that they were deeply in his debt. "Happier than you were when you visited me in Mifune."

"You're healthy again," Shiroe replied, his face untroubled for the first time since the day Emiya Kiritsugu had died and left him alone – again. "Seeing you like this, outside the hospital, walking again – happy – it makes me happy, Nee-san."

And how could he not be, as he had a family again, with the sister he thought he'd lose restored to who she had been, instead of dying from an incurable disease.

"Do you remember…more?" the elder Fujou asked quietly. "From…before?"

But Shiroe only shook his head.

"I don't," the young heir said solemnly, turning back to his _washi_ paper. "I'm sorry. I wish I did."

"Don't be. I have my brother and my health – that's what's important," Kirie noted, finding that – unsurprisingly, but still to her annoyance – she had lost much of her skill with brush and ink, given that she could no longer produce the minute variations in tonality she had been capable of once. But that was alright. After all, she had years to learn once more – years to catch up on a world that she thought might have left her behind. The girl sighed and shook her head. "In the beginning, I thought that if I was cured, I could just step back into the life I knew, back into the world I knew. But I can't."

"…you can't, Nee-san?"

Fujou Kirie chuckled ruefully.

"I have been locked away from the world for almost a decade, Shiroe," she said softly. "The life I knew – the world I knew – is gone now."

Shiroe froze at his sister's words, as he hadn't thought about what would happen once she'd been released from the hospital.

"Ah," was all he could say.

"But that's not what's important," Fujou Kirie continued, smiling kindly at her younger brother. "What is important is that I have a future. That my time, which was frozen can now begin to flow once more. That I can be a part of the world again, even if it will not be easy."

"…you're right," Shiroe commented. "Now that you're healthy though…"

"Yes, Shiroe?"

"Do you want the head of family position back?" the boy wondered. "You know the legacy of the Fujou much better than I do, after all."

"I may be healthy, but I'm not in any shape to lead," the raven-haired woman intoned. "Not yet, Shiroe. And I may know what the Fujou – what the Demon Hunter Organization – was like once, but I do not even know what my brother is up to anymore. Shiroe, you have not even introduced me to your familiar."

"Ah," the redheaded Shiroe said eloquently, looking over to his white wolf- _tengu_ , which was, to his shock, dipping its tail into the inkpot and using it as a brush, thereby demonstrating the art of sumi-e with an abstract rendering of the city. "Well, Nee-san, this is my familiar, the wolf-tengu called Shiranui."

"A pleasure to meet you, Shiranui," the elder Fujou said gently, placing her hands together and bowing from her seated position. As a descendant of those who had been mediums and _mikos_ , she knew full well to respect supernatural beings, and she knew the lore behind _tengu_ and their pride. "Take care of my brother, please, great wolf."

The _tengu_ turned to regard the woman descended from a lineage of _mikos,_ looking at her unblinkingly for a long moment, before finally nodding to Fujou Kirie in turn.


	36. Actress Again

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 36.** _Actress Again_

Matou Shinji's expression was an utterly blank mask as he reminded himself yet _again_ that no matter how satisfying he might find it, storming out of the Great Hall to protest the…the utter travesty of a play he was watching would be seen as rather offensive. This was especially so when _Cornerstones,_ the production in question, had apparently been inspired by the _official accounts_ of the Stone Cutters' first adventures, and had been commissioned by the British Ministry of Magic as a tribute to their exploits and heroism.

As such, Lucius Malfoy, the British Minister of Magic himself, had personally invited each of the Stone Cutters – as well as Daphne Greengrass, daughter of the head of the Department of War and the known partner of the Boy-Who-Lived – to attend the premiere of the play, offering those who did not already have travel privileges dispensation to use Vanishing Cabinet connection between Durmstrang and Hogwarts for the evening. To his utter lack of surprise, the others had quickly accepted.

Fred, Shinji was sure, had accepted mostly for a chance to be back in Britain – and Hogwarts, where the Weasley twin felt safe – as opposed to a foreign land where his status as a Stone Cutter meant nothing, where the Dark Arts were practiced openly, where discipline was strict and ubiquitous, and where he could see judgement in the eyes of his Hogwarts peers as they wondered if he was somehow _lacking_ compared to his brother, who had been chosen as Tri-Wizard Champion over him.

…and if, like his brother, he too had been corrupted by his sojourn to Japan.

George was somewhat harder to read, given the changes the other boy had been going through, though Shinji suspected that his reasons for attending extended beyond wanting a pleasant diversion from preparing for the first task. Perhaps he had decided to come to honor Hillard's sacrifice, to spend time with the rest of his family, or to – as George had said before – enjoy the fare served by the house-elves of Hogwarts, which Shinji would readily admit was generally superior to what the students of Durmstrang produced on a regular basis – save for on special occasions, when those assigned to mess duty went all out.

Why Harry had agreed was obvious, as the Boy-Who-Lived had confided that he would be giving the closing soliloquy of the play, so it wasn't as if he could decide to notshow up. Even if that hadn't been the case, however, Harry was both the nominal leader of the Stone Cutters and the British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot, with his girlfriend being the daughter of the head of the Department of War, so for him to turn down an invitation from the Minister for an event in his honor would have presented an impression of disunity that Britain could not afford at this point in time.

Daphne had agreed as well, though Shinji thought she was probably motivated less by duty and more from a desire to enjoy a pleasant evening with her significant other. Harry had been spending much of his time in Britain as of late, after all, meaning that it was likely that he and Daphne hadn't seen too much of each other, and with Harry to tour Britain with the cast of _Cornerstones_ , it would no doubt be some time before they next saw each other.

Of course, Shinji imagined that Miss Greengrass' notion of a pleasant evening might be one where conditions weren't _quite_ freezing out, and he allowed that the isle of Svalbard, being above the Arctic circle, might be a wee bit less temperate than the Scottish highlands where Hogwarts could be found, but he didn't think creature comforts were the main reason she'd agreed to come.

' _Even if it was, I couldn't really fault her, since I spend most of my time in_ Mahoutokoro. _Autumn is the best time to be around both the City Beneath the Earth and Kyoto above it anyway, with all the leaves changing color.'_

Most people who visited the City of Shrines did so around March or April, when the groves upon groves of plum and cherry trees began to blossom, hoping to catch the _sakura_ blossoms at their peak, but the fall foliage was almost as beautiful, with splashes of crimson-red, fiery orange, and golden-yellows from the many stands of maples, cherries, and ginkgos serving as a lovely contrast with the greens of moss and evergreen trees, the blue hues of the sky, the greys and blacks of hewn stone walls, and the white and brown latticeworks of traditional buildings.

' _I should take Luna around Kyoto soon, if I get permission from Matsuo-san. I think she'd enjoy seeing Japan again, especially during the fall – and that Pandora wouldn't mind either.'_

For that matter, he rather thought Zelkova would appreciate such an outing, as his _kodama_ familiar had enjoyed the outing to Savernake Forest – and the chance to commune with ancient trees – earlier in the year. And while his familiar had been cooperative since the _kodama's_ recovery, he knew the tree spirit didn't exactly enjoy Durmstrang _,_ given the sheer cold (more of a psychological factor for the spirit than an actual threat, much like fire), the lack of any significant plant life, and the lack of sun during the endless winter night.

' _I really need to do something nice for him soon. Without his aid, that battle against the troll would have been much more difficult…'_

The main issue was finding some time for such an outing, given that most of his time in Japan was dedicated to training for the fast approaching Wizarding Schools Potions Championship. There were less than two months left before the New Year, shortly after which the Potions Champions of the Eleven Schools would be summoned to the Isle of Thule, and despite all the effort he'd put into training, he knew it probably wouldn't be enough – not if the other Champions were as powerful and skilled as he knew Sajyou-san to be.

(He was reasonably sure that Elesa Labelle, the American Champion, was around Sajyou-san's level from what he'd seen of her skills, and while he hadn't had the chance to study either the Durmstrang or Beauxbatons Potions Champions' abilities in any detail, he was certain they would be quite formidable, given what he knew about how them – and how they had claimed their positions.)

His one potential advantage over his older and more skilled competitors was the _Book of Potions_ , given that the spirit of Zygmunt Budge, the genius potioneer who had invented _Felix Felicis,_ resided within it, with the spirit's greatest ambition being to guide a potioneer to victory in the Potions Championship as a way of proving his own genius.

' _Though since Sajyou-san knows about the book and has built up a working relationship with Budge, the tome may not be as much of an advantage as I thought…'_

Not for the first time, Matou Shinji found himself relieved that Sokaris hadn't asked him to _win_ the Potions Championship, just to do his best and see what he could learn. If she _had_ , the boy would have thrown himself into Potions training, spending every waking moment trying to improve his brewing skills and odds of success in the competition, without involving himself with Fleur's situation, intervening to help Tohsaka, or seeking to learn from Lockhart.

The boy rather suspected that the Director of Atlas knew this, given that she was familiar with him and knew that he would give anything not to disappoint her, even if it meant giving up everything else in the process, and out of kindness and practicality, had asked him for something more manageable so he would have time to build up his skills in other areas. Indeed, Shinji rather thought that Sion Eltnam Atlasia was probably the Director who cared most about people – likely because her mission was to work for the salvation of the world – and every day, he counted himself as lucky to be associated with her.

' _Speaking of which, I should mention Rachelle Lestrange to her_ _in my next report_ … _though I don't know how Sokaris will feel about the fact that the Potions Champion of Beauxbations reveres the man who became TATARI._ '

The boy shook his head slightly as cleared his head, focusing his attention on the drama unfolding before his eyes. It was odd how his thoughts were more jumbled and flighty than usual, as if his mind was desperately trying to be anywhere but here – but then, maybe it wasn't so odd, since he wasn't especially enjoying the play – which had turned out to be a propaganda piece that bore only vague similarities to the truth.

Then again, that was true even of the official account, with Matou Shinji alone knowing the full truth of what had transpired that year – especially when it came to Sialim Sokaris and everything she'd been involved in away from the eyes of others, whether it was making use of the Room of Requirement, eating in the kitchens and using the house elves and ghosts as an intelligence network, or absconding with the Philosopher's Stone. And since he was forbidden by geas from revealing exactly what had transpired that year by the Director of Atlas, he'd had…reservations about how any play based on the Stone Cutters' first adventures would turn out.

Still, he'd initially agreed to attend the production out of respect for the memory of the late Robert Hillard, as the former Ravenclaw had taught him a great deal about Magical Britain, dueling, and the art of war. Besides Harry, and to an extent, Sokaris, Hillard had been one of Shinji's first friends at Hogwarts, and a mentor besides, who had supported him in his feud with the Weasley Twins…and who had offered to hold off the troll, even knowing it might be his doom.

' _From what I hear, he did the same thing at the Quidditch World Cup. Standing in the defense of others who could not defend themselves, risking his life to save others. Only that time…'_

…that time, there had been no one to save Hillard, and now his comrade, his brother-in-arms was dead.

Shinji looked down as he felt pain, noting that without realizing it, he'd balled his hands into fists in his lap, clenching them so tightly that his nails broke skin.

Would it have helped if he'd been there himself, the boy wondered? If all the Stone Cutters had been at the Quidditch World Cup, and not…elsewhere? Or would they simply have been casualties in a conflict beyond their ability to affect?

Matou Shinji found that he didn't know, and that sense of uncertainty didn't sit well with him at all. He'd experienced a bit of it three years ago, after Sokaris was thought to have died in the fight against Quirrell, but knowing as he did that she had lived had spared him the hours of reflection and self-recrimination the others had endured.

Despite being told that Hillard had passed, Matou Shinji had been too busy in the last few months to really process the news of his friend's death. The isolation and demands that came with being Champion had helped, as had the fact that until tonight, the Stone Cutters had not convened as a whole, so some part of the boy could pretend his friend wasn't dead, just…somewhere out of sight.

' _But he wouldn't miss a night like tonight,'_ Shinji reminded himself, as he closed his eyes, bowing his head as all the emotions he had put aside struck with a vengeance.

Guilt. Grief. Anger. Loss.

All these things and more welled up inside of him as he listened to the twisted version of the past that was being presented this evening, and _knew_ without a shadow of a doubt that the Britain that existed now – a Britain ruled by fear – was a far cry from the Britain Hillard had loved.

And that because of that, there was no place in it for him – or at least there wouldn't be, after the Potions Championship was over.

' _I'm kept around for now because they think I'm their best hope. But what happens if I lose?'_

…or of course, what would happen if he somehow _won?_

' _I don't know.'_

He could go back to Japan of course, where there was a spot at _Mahoutokoro,_ but would that have him ready for the coming War? Perhaps he could simply go to Atlas and receive the training he needed to become an Alchemist there, as no doubt thought acceleration and memory partition would be helpful in what was to come? Or…

' _Are you alright?'_ A voice asked of him, in words that hadn't been spoken, but thought from mind to mind – but not Zelkova's voice, as a hand settled onto his with a sense of warmth.

Swallowing, the boy opened his eyes and glanced to his right, his lips curving upwards ever so faintly as he saw Luna Lovegood seated there, dressed in a very familiar white dress with vine-like traceries of silver and pale blue, with leaves woven into her fine blonde hair, and a white fox seated on her lap.

As the sole Stone Cutter still based at Hogwarts, she had little excuse not to attend, and so, to make the most of it, she had decided to bring along Pandora, who rather enjoyed human foibles and entertainment – while of course, fusing with Zelkova as she so often did for formal events.

' _You can speak into my mind?'_ Shinji wondered, focusing his thoughts clearly, in the way he'd become accustomed to 'speaking' with his familiar. _'How?'_

' _I seem to have inherited Zelkova's link with you,'_ Luna commented, as her fingers caressed the back of his clenched hands, pulsing small amounts of _yang_ energy into him and sealing his sounds. _'You feel very troubled tonight.'_

' _Was I that obvious…?'_

' _I would have noticed that even without the link,'_ the blonde noted. ' _Everyone else seems to be watching the play. What's wrong?'_

'… _it's…a lot of things,'_ Shinji related after a long pause. _'This play is bringing back…a lot of memories. Not all of them good ones.'_

' _Because of how they've portrayed you?'_

Shinji only shook his head.

' _Because of how they haven't,'_ he replied. _'Because in what I've seen so far, everything I did – everything I was involved in was…erased. The role I played has been written out entirely. The friendship I had with Harry isn't even_ mentioned _, and neither is my Art_. _I've had one appearance in the first Act so far, as a failure of a practitioner that Sokaris…pitied, more a plot device than a character...'_

' _Maybe it will get better?'_ Luna suggested, radiating a sense of calm and reassurance.

'… _maybe,_ ' Shinji allowed reluctantly.

Only this time, his first instinct was correct – for even as the play continued, reaching the climax of the first Act, featuring the fight against the troll, it didn't.

* * *

For Fred Weasley, a chance to come back to Britain had been the most welcome piece of news he'd hard in a month, given that in his homeland, he was known and respected instead of being looked upon as a potential troublemaker. In Britain, he was a Stone Cutter, one of the land's young heroes whose exploits were a subject of envy and admiration, with privileges to match, while in Durmstrang, he was an unknown subject to the school's harsh rules and regulations, in a place where the authorities had no sense of humor or justice whatsoever.

' _But then, I should have expected that of a den of Dark Wizards in training,'_ the redhaired youth thought to himself, recalling how he'd been sentenced to menial labor – with absurd tasks that had included doing laundry for the entire castle (without the aid of magic), cleaning the halls (without using magic), or cooking for the school – all because he had sought to become Hogwarts' Tri-Wizard Champion and had not been selected through no fault of his own. _'I don't understand why Headmaster Flitwick lets_ them _oppress us like this, why he lets those savages force good wizards into doing the work of house-elves…'_

Especially when murderers like Delacour, Krum, and Lestrange were exempted from the servitude Durmstrang forced others into, simply because they held the title of _Champion_.

Lestrange he'd only heard about, though apparently the Lovegood lookalike that Matou spent far too much time around was a ruthless killer who had slaughtered her rivals – including even a Minister's son – until she was only one left who qualified as a Potions Champion.

Delacour and Krum though…he knew some of the people they had killed. Had even had…relations with one, a certain Tamsin Applebee from the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team who, like him, had joined the Banner of Wolves – and who he had been looking forward to spending more time with. And now she was dead, with her _murderers_ not only going unpunished, but rewarded.

' _An ambush? Applebee wouldn't have done such a thing. She's not a Dark Wizard – not like_ them.'

Not like Krum and his Veela slag (if she was even _his_ Veela slag, since it was rumored that Delacour's appetite was insatiable, with how often she'd been seen around the other Banners), who had decided for some reason to go on a rampage, employing the Dark Arts to kill and maim their fellow students, before finally being stopped.

If they _had_ been stopped, that was, and their absence the following morning hadn't been some kind of cover-up by Karkaroff, who was after all, a former Death Eater. A coverup that his _brother_ had seemed to fall for all too easily, after being chosen as a Champion, as had Matou, who for a playboy was surprisingly susceptible to the charms of a Veela.

But then, among inhuman creatures, Veela were some of the most dangerous. They might not be the most powerful combatants on the battlefield, but their allure could cause the weak-minded to turn against their fellows, or if focused, could subvert even the will of more powerful strong wizards.

So Professor Damian Savage, the wiry, perpetually angry Auror assigned as Hogwarts' Defense Professor for the year, had instructed his older charges, with what Fred had taken of his course covering the basics of how to fight giants, werewolves, Veela, and of course, Dark Wizards – the more dangerous elements among Britain's enemies.

Savage had spoken of the necessity to play to one's strengths in dealing with these creatures, that when engaging them, one should strike swiftly and with overwhelming force – and from stealth if at all possible – leaving them no opportunity to defend themselves or retaliate. Some had said that this hardly seemed fair, but the Defense Professor had countered by asking if it was _fair_ that giants were highly resistant to magic, that they could wade through a dozen wizards' spells unscathed and destroy them all; asking if it was _fair_ that werewolves were stronger and faster than wizards, on top of being able to use magic when untransformed; asking if it was _fair_ that a Veela or Dark Wizard would simply dominate their minds if they didn't act first?

After all, Savage had said, those who believed the notions of honor or fair play applied in times of war were fools; in the end, there was only victory or death, as those at the Quidditch World Cup had learned only all too well.

To that end, the Professor had insisted that his older students learn two things before they headed off to Durmstrang: the first being silent casting – so they could better defend themselves, and the second being how to recognize and resist the effects of mind control by repeatedly subjecting them to the Confundus Charm and the Imperius Curse (the latter of which the Ministry had given him special permission to use for teaching purposes).

As a Stone Cutter, Fred had already learned silent casting, but being placed under the Imperius had been a new – and very odd – experience. Given that it was one of the Darkest spells known to Wizardkind, Fred had steeled himself, expecting the Curse to viciously tear into his mind as he fought its domination, crushing his will as he sought to resist but instead…

…it had been the most wonderful feeling in the world, like the caress of a warm summer breeze wiping away every thought and worry in his head, every burden in his weary soul, leaving nothing behind except a sense of contentment, a sense that everything would be all right – not unlike what he'd felt the night he'd finally become one with Hokuto.

Why in Merlin's name, would he want to fight such a thing, when it had finally given him peace?

In that state, he'd even managed to cast a Patronus for the first time: a raccoon dog ( _tanuki_ ), like the familiar he'd so briefly had before she had run away.

And then the Curse had been lifted, with the immense weight of the mass of worries, fears, guilt and sense of horror that came crashing down on him sending him to his knees, and the Patronus he'd conjured up vanishing without a trace.

"There is a reason why the Imperius is one of the most feared spells a Dark Wizard may use," Professor Savage had said almost reverently afterwards. "And it isn't that you can't fight it – because you can, if your will is strong enough, compared to that of the caster. It's that when cast properly, you won't want to. Isn't that right, Mister Weasley?"

Fred had only nodded from where he knelt, shivering on the floor, his mind and body craving the peace of the Imperius, or at least the touch of another human being to help him forget for a time. Tamsin, who knew what it was like to grieve, as she'd lost her brother during the events of the World Cup, had joined him that night and brought him a few hours' comfort…

'… _and now she's gone too, and Matou doesn't give a damn. Instead he chases the skirt of that Veela, despite already having Lovegood…'_

Not that he was entirely surprised at this turn of events, given that Matou had always been cold to most others, except towards girls he was interested in – and then, he hadn't kept to the standards of decency. After all, it was rumored that the reason Granger left Hogwarts was because she'd caught Matou cheating on her with Lovegood. Or perhaps he'd been caught with the pretty Japanese girl living in the house he'd bought for her, likely because he intended her to be his mistress.

…did Lovegood not care about Matou's philandering ways, he wondered, as he glanced over and saw the petite blonde comforting her rather miffed-looking partner? Or was it simply that she didn't know, because Matou kept secrets from her, lied to her as he had lied to _him_?

Fred didn't know, but he also knew that Matou's love affairs weren't his business. That Matou had lied to him, all but promising him and George nature spirit familiars so they too could have access to the art of fusion, in exchange for their help with potions, yet failing to deliver on his promise – _that_ was his business.

In the end, after everything he'd suffered during the horrifying expedition to Aokigahara, all he'd gotten was a raccoon dog which hadn't seemed very magical at all, and had soon wandered away after he'd returned to Hogwarts, with his brother George getting nothing at all.

Matou had _lied_ , and Fred would see to it that the boy he'd once called a comrade would one day reap what he had sown.

As such, Fred found himself rather enjoying _Cornerstones_ , both because it was nice to learn more about who Sialim Sokaris had been and what she had meant to Harry before that final battle where she had died fighting alongside them, and because it honored her memory and Hillard's, while minimizing the role of untrustworthy foreigners like Matou – and of foreign magic like Matou's _ofuda_.

(The last wasn't out of malice, however, as much as the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts not being able to create _ofuda_ or simulate them very well. Instead, they'd replaced Matou's foreign art with exceptional talent in potions, creating a clear tie between the Matou Shinji of the past and the Potions Champion of the present.)

True, he and George didn't exactly have large roles in the first Act, as the two Gryffindors had been cast as pranksters antagonistic to the Boy-Who-Lived, before the encounter with the troll, but that had been true enough to life that Fred didn't really mind.

What had interested him was what he hadn't known about that first year.

He hadn't known that the Boy-Who-Lived had come to Hogwarts with the ambition of becoming a hero powerful enough to save everyone, and had needed little prompting to join Slytherin. He hadn't known that Sialim Sokaris had been Harry's confidante and closest friend – from what Matou had said, she had been _his_ closest friend – though the Matou Shinji in the play – a prideful, unsociable boy from the East who Sokaris had taken pity upon after witnessing his many failures in Transfiguration – _would_ say that.

He hadn't known that it was Sokaris who had convinced the house elves that the Weasley Twins wanted to be served a wriggling mass of worms, as she had recognized that _they_ had been the perpetrators of a certain prank against Matou which had involved robes enchanted to burn whenever the Japanese boy sat down – or that she had joined with Harry in launching the Great Prank War against them.

' _I always thought it was Hillard and Matou who were behind it, but I might have been wrong,'_ Fred reflected, remembering that Harry had a hand in writing the script.

Still, the Prank War played out much as Fred remembered it, with all manner of pranks, incidents, and rabblerousing in which only the House of Hufflepuff had been spared, until Halloween came around at last, with a somewhat _changed_ battle against the troll.

For one, the involvement of the castle poltergeist had not been mentioned in the play, which was just as well, since watching Peeves teabag the head of the troll's headless corpse had been rather obscene. For another, with potions instead of _ofuda_ , the conflict played out rather differently, especially since the third major difference was that in the play, Sokaris had been involved, when she had not in reality.

' _Just as well,'_ Fred reasoned. _'As I remember, she was following Quirrell that night, after seeing him release the troll into the castle – something which was just as important as fighting beside us, since without her, we wouldn't have discovered the identity of our true enemy. With Quirrell as our ally in the official version of things, it makes sense that she would be helping us fight the troll instead.'_

Well, more than help, really.

In the play's version of the Troll Incident, the two warring prankster factions had come across Ravenclaw Prefect Robert Hillard as he valiantly fought against the troll. With perfect form, and a look of pure determination, the prefect launched spell after spell at the massive, evil-shaped creature, only for his attacks to splinter upon its magic-resistant hide. Still, as ineffectual as his attacks were, that was enough to distract the enemy from a disillusioned Matou Shinji, who frenetically lobbed vials of explosive, sticking, and other potions at the beast in an attempt to confuse it and stop it in its tracks, though it wasn't enough.

With situation seeming rather dire, the pranksters had put aside their feud and lent their wands to the cause.

Fred had to admit that the ensuing fight was nothing short of spectacular, with the special effects wizards had done a great job capturing the sheer chaos and threat of that night, as there were all manner of spells flying about the stage, miniature dragons transfigured from rubble venting their fury on the troll's eyes, potion vials erupting into blasts of sound and fury and even what seemed like a life-size troll staggering about and roaring in a very life-like manner.

In the end, however, even the magic of a fifth-year student, two third-years, and three first-years hadn't enough to penetrate the troll's hide, with the creature brushing aside their attempts to stop it with almost contemptuous ease and stomping towards them with murder in its eyes.

It advanced, and the students fell back.

It advanced, and the students fell back.

It advanced yet further – and there was no more room to fall back, with the young heroes having their backs against a wall.

"We're doomed," the actor playing Matou Shinji said, resignation and fear writ across his features. "At least, some of us. Sokaris…you and Potter should escape. Get help."

"No. I have a better idea," the actress playing Sialim Sokaris retorted, a mask of perfect calm on her exotic features as she turned to the Boy-Who-Lived and withdrew several vials containing an acid-green mix. "Harry, do you trust me?"

"Exploding potions?" Matou asked skeptically. "I've already tried that, Sokaris. It doesn't—"

But Sokaris just held up her hand, silencing the boy.

"Harry?"

"With my life," the Boy-Who-Lived replied, with the purple-haired girl pressing the vials into his hands.

" _Wingardium Leviosa!"_ she cried out, raising him high into the air, with Hillard using a banishing charm to launch Harry towards the oncoming troll like a human missile.

" _Glacius!_ " Harry cried out, his wand-arm outstretched as he aimed for the troll's eyes.

The icy wind struck home, with the troll staggering backward, opening its mouth wide in a roar of pain and utter rage…giving Boy-Who-Lived the perfect opportunity to hurl the potions Sokaris had handed him straight down the monster's gullet.

Recovering from the momentary disorientation, the troll reached out to seize enemy flying past him, but just as its stony fingers were about to make contact, it seized up, its body convulsing as the monster lurched back and forth, explosion after explosion tearing it apart from within, until with a last shudder, the creature's lifeless, twitching form crashed to the ground.

Harry too, hit the floor hard, as the others rushed towards him to see if he was okay.

"I'm fine," he said as he got to his feet, none the worse for wear save for his hair being somewhat mussed and glasses quite askew. "And I don't know about you, but I'm bloody grateful to have had all of you here with me tonight, since without your help, I'd be troll food."

"Or least I would be," Hillard interjected. "You didn't have to help you know, Boy-Who-Lived or no."

"I won't leave someone to die if by acting, I might be able to help," Harry replied, fixing his glasses. "That's not what heroes do, after all."

"Heroes, huh?" the play's version of Fred asked skeptically.

"We don't feel much like heroes, brother of mine," play-George commented.

"More like we narrowly avoided getting turned into mince pie," play-Fred noted.

"That may be true," play-Harry responded, shaking his head. "Yet even so, together, we beat something none of us could have alone, defeated a foe too great for any one of us. We fought – fought hard – yet none of us ran. All of us face what might have been the end – and together, overcame it. Divided, each of us are weak, only as strong as the spells we can muster. Divided, we have every reason to be afraid, because there will always be someone stronger than any one of us, always be something we can't hope stop alone. But together…look at what we've accomplished. A troll lies dead at our feet, none of us much the worse for wear. So what say you, friends? Shall we stay divided, easy targets for the next great threat to come our way? Or do we put aside our feud and come together as brothers – as comrades-in-arms? As…" He looked at the troll for a moment, and then back to his comrades as inspiration struck him. "…Stone Cutters?"

"Well, I for one, am with you, Harry, whatever we decide to call ourselves," Hillard answered, his features marred by what looked like a quickly growing bruise from where he hadn't dodged some smaller pieces of rubble fast enough. "After all, it's dangerous to go alone."

Sokaris nodded, as she held out a jar of healing salve to the older boy. "Take this."

And with that, the curtain fell, marking the end of Act One, and the start of a half-hour intermission.

' _All in all, I'm enjoying myself,'_ Fred thought to himself, as he – along with much of the rest of the crowd – rose to stretch their legs a bit. _'I was afraid they'd make a mockery of what we went through, but I guess I shouldn't have worried. They've done it great justice.'_

* * *

Despite how bad it would have been for his reputation and his standing with the government of wizarding Britain, Matou Shinji almost ended up leaving at the end of Act I, given the emotional turmoil he was going through and the many, _many_ slights to him and his character.

Certainly, on one level, he appreciated the fact that the playwright had chosen to glorify Sokaris, expanding her role and importance, given that she _had_ played a critical role in bringing them together their first year, and in preparing them for their first great adventure. On another level, however, the decision of the playwright to all but _erase_ him both as a character and in his contributions to the plot… _irritated_ him immensely.

Seeing Fred's obvious delight in the play had only rankled further, given how little respect it showed for everything the Japanese boy had done for him, especially after he had gone through the trouble of arranging for Fred to come to Japan during the summer so he could obtain a familiar.

' _I really don't understand him. He got angry at Harry over Harry's animagus form, even though you can't control what you become,'_ Shinji thought to himself. _'And now he's happy at how this play_ insults _me? What the hell is wrong with him?'_

' _At least the play still acknowledges you as a hero,'_ Luna pointed out, speaking mind to mind, _'even if there are things you did that aren't recognized.'_

'… _I suppose,'_ Shinji allowed, shaking his head. _'It's just…'_

' _Just what?'_

' _Let's just say I have a bad feeling about how Act II is going to go,'_ was all Shinji commented, though he nodded in thanks as Luna passed him a cup of cold pumpkin juice. The two sat together in silence for a time, not really talking to anyone else, just communing and sharing their thoughts, before the curtain rose again and the second act began.

It started off innocently enough, with the play's versions of Sokaris, Harry and Shinji standing amidst the desert sands, with the sun high overhead, the air dry and sharp, as low and level dunes rolling away into the distance – about as far removed as one could get from a Scottish Castle as one could imagine.

"Quite a wonder," the actor playing Matou Shinji noted as he looked around in surprise. "I didn't know the _Book of Spells_ was capable of making something like this."

"It can create anything you can imagine," Sokaris commented dryly, her expression almost wistful as she looked into the distance, the sunlight bright upon her features. "Any place in the world. Or not in the world. Anywhere you wish to be."

"So then, Sokaris, what is this place?" Harry asked. Sokaris however, didn't answer, an expression of quiet longing on her face. "You're using the book I won from Quirrell's Christmas Challenge to come here, so I thought…Sokaris?"

"I was born amidst the desert sands," the girl finally spoke, closing her eyes as she let the false sunlight wash over her. "Named for the triple god Ptah-Seker-Osiris – Sokar, as he is called. The creator and craftsman. The falcon connected with rebirth. The god of the dead."

"You're…from Egypt," Harry surmised, his eyes wide, as he shook his head. "You're a long way from home."

"I am," she admitted. "I have not been home in a very long time," she said, her voice wavering slightly as she continued. "It is…wearisome, sometimes. Ah, quite wearisome."

"I'm sorry to hear that," the Boy-Who-Lived replied, with both he and Shinji reaching out to steady her – though she stepped away from both of them.

"Do not touch me," she admonished, opening her eyes as her body trembled. "Please."

"Alright…" Harry said reluctantly, looking to Shinji, who had a troubled expression on his face, as the Japanese boy withdrew a few slips of paper from his robes.

"It's the new year, Sokaris," Shinji offered, walking to stand by Sokaris' side and holding the pieces of paper out to her.

"What's this?" the purple-haired girl asked roughly.

"A tradition from my homeland," the Japanese boy explained. "Make a wish, and take one of these."

"Fortune-telling?" Sokaris questioned.

"Nothing wrong with it, is there?" Shinji shot back.

Sokaris said nothing, simply nodding as she tentatively took one of the papers from his hand.

"'Your wish will be granted?'" she read, raising an eyebrow.

"If it is in my power to do so, if there is anything I can do to help, then yes, certainly," Shinji replied roughly. "We are…friends, after all, aren't we?"

"Hn."

"Harry, do you have a wish?"

"…world peace?" the bespectacled youth offered.

"Heh," Sokaris grunted. "Knowing the nature of humanity, such is unlikely to occur."

"…joking aside," Harry deadpanned. "I don't have a wish – but I am thankful. Thankful for magic, thankful for Hogwarts – thankful for friends," Harry said at last. "Though if I had one…well, you both know."

"And you, Matou Shinji?" Sokaris asked quietly.

"…only that I may continue to be by your side," the Japanese boy answered, glancing longingly at the girl beside him, his cheeks red.

"Is it indeed?" Sokaris murmured, though she didn't turn to look at him. "Whatever you wish, hang fast to it, to that image of what you desire, for that itself is a form of magic. A story yet to be born, a narrative yet to be woven, a fairytale and ideal of the mind yet to touch mind, heart and soul. Remember your wish, for it will be power towards the day you become glorious."

There were more scenes between then and the final clash deep below Hogwarts, with the Stone Cutters training together, the duel in which Harry was revealed as the Heir of Slytherin, Shinji learning how to better brew potions and use them in combat from Sokaris, with the boy paying much more attention to the girl teaching him than to the potion itself, sometimes making a bit of a mess when his pot boiled over, and finally, the Stone Cutters chasing a silvery raven Patronus to a rather ominous looking door, with the bird saying "through here" before fading away.

"Through…but this is…the Forbidden Corridor!" Matou Shinji exclaimed as he looked around, wary that someone might waiting to ambush them. "We're not supposed to be here."

"Professor Quirrell needs our help," Harry said quietly. "He wouldn't have asked for us if there was anyone else."

"But Professor Dumbledore—"

"—is out of the Castle," Hillard supplied. "Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape are asleep, and Professor McGonagall is away for some reason. The Patronus found me on patrol, and asked me to come as quickly as I could – that there wasn't any time."

"What did it—"

"A dark wizard has entered the castle, seeking the Diadem of Ravenclaw – once lost, now found in the caverns under the castle," the prefect noted. "Professor Quirrell is holding him off, but he doesn't know how long he can last. And if the dark wizard gets his hands on that artifact…"

"Merlin's balls," George swore. "Wouldn't that make him one of the most powerful wizards of all time? Able to master any spell?"

"…yes, yes it would," Hillard stated. "I'm surprised you know that, since you're not a Ravenclaw."

"We can—"

"—still read!" the Twins rebutted.

"Right. Let's go then."

One by one, the Stone Cutters entered the subterranean tunnel of roughhewn stone, encountering traps and obstacles that Hillard explained were probably the result of the Diadem having been down here for centuries, as the legendary artifact had once tested those who sought to use its powers with challenges that they could defeat if they managed to use their wits.

And so they did, facing and overcoming a challenge of the flying keys, a puzzle involving a game of wizard's chess, a Boggart which had taken the form of a terrifying creature which called itself TATARI, and a troll, before arriving at a barrier of black flame and a table full of potions.

"It doesn't look like we can all pass," Hillard warned, with the prefect looking rather singed and bruised from the earlier puzzles. "It looks like whoever wants to go through has to drink from the proper potion vial. There's enough for one – maybe two – swallows at most, so…who will it be?"

"I'll go," said Harry.

"Are you certain?" Hillard questioned.

"I'm the leader of the Stone Cutters," the Boy-Who-Lived rejoined. "If I do not lead and share in the risks, how can I expect any of you to follow? That…and I've beaten a Dark Wizard before."

"…right," Hillard noted. "Then I guess—"

"I will accompany you, Harry Potter," Sokaris intoned, in a voice that would brook no disagreement from the Boy-Who-Lived. "Let us go, we are running short on time."

"No!" Shinji cried out, with Sokaris turning to look at him. "I mean…let me go, instead. We don't know what we're going to find out there, so…"

"All the more reason for it to be me," Sokaris said, almost gently. "I have more skill at our shared Art than you, Matou Shinji, and even should I pass – I am an orphan. None will miss me."

"But I—" Shinji had said, before shaking his head and taking a step back. "Promise me you'll be safe…?"

"I cannot," Sokaris answered, shaking her head. "I will not make a promise that I do not know I can keep. Matou, in case I do not return…"

"…yes?"

"Be strong," the purple-haired girl said, as she downed a swallow of the flame-proofing potion and handed the vial to Harry, who did as she did, as together, wands drawn, they passed through the flames.

"Alright, let's put our faith in them," Hillard noted. "But just in case, we're the rear guard. Let's get some shields set up, since if they fail…the enemy comes through here. Let's hope we don't need them."

As it happened, just as Harry and Sokaris passed through the barrier flame, they saw Professor Quirrell blasted off his feet by an inhuman looking Dark Wizard, his form crashing into the wall with a sickening crack like a ragdoll as his wand flew from his hand.

" _ **Avada kedavra!"**_ the foe hissed, with a jet of sickly green light striking the Defense Professor in the chest, as Quirinus Quirrell breathed his last.

Enraged by the sight of their professor being murdered before their eyes, Harry and Sokaris entered the fight, using Potions and what spells they knew against the Dark Wizard, though no matter what they did, it didn't seem to do much good, as their foe batted away their potions contemptuously, with their spells hitting the man and splintering ineffectually from his robes.

"This is who Quirrell summons to face me?" the enemy sneered, conjuring ropes to bind Harry with a snap of his fingers. "A half-vampire girl and the Boy-Who-Lived? I expected someone who might actually be a challenge, but it seems he was desperate. "

Sokaris lobbed two potion vials at the Dark Wizard, hoping to distract him, but her opponent countered with a wordless _**Reducto,**_ with the blue beam slamming into the vials – and triggering the potion within to explode in a blast of force that sent the girl reeling – but didn't do much to the fallen wizard, who turned away – and so missed the girl vanishing from sight.

"Contemptible. Is this all the students of Albus Dumbledore can do these days?" the inhuman foe inquired sibilantly. "And here I thought my Master's only equal would have better trained the next generation of so-called heroes."

"Your Master?" Harry whispered. "You mean…"

"Yes," the Dark Wizard intoned with a note of utter satisfaction. "Gellert Grindelwald."

"G—who?" the Boy-Who-Lived asked, confused by the reply, as he had expected someone else entirely. "Not…Voldemort?"

"I care not for a pretender defeated by a mere _child_ ," the enemy hissed. "I served – serve – the greatest revolutionary the wizarding world has ever known. The one who will overthrow the corrupt Ministries of Europe and bring about a new age of prosperity, where giant, goblin, wizard, werewolf and muggle can live together in peace."

"You…you're mad…"

"Heheheh…so you say. But child, don't you know, the means justify the ends, and I'm quite thankful to Quirrell for delivering you into my hands. After all, you who have already defeated one Dark Lord will no doubt be a suitable vessel for my Master's revival."

"Reviv…"

"Yess indeed…" the dark figure noted as he walked to the back of the room, where a silver circlet set with a great sapphire – the Diadem of Ravenclaw – gleamed in the shadows. With a deep chuckle, the wizard waved his wand over the Diadem in a complex pattern before holstering it and lifting the crown from its pedestal with pale, bony fingers and walking towards the boy. "You see, boy, the Diadem is a horcrux, an artifact containing a piece of my Master's soul, as it were. A way to guarantee that even if Dumbledore – once my Master's closest ally – should betray him, that he could one day return to carry out his mission. To bring about _world peace._ Don't you want to help bring about a world without war, boy?"

Step by step by step the enemy wizard came closer, with Harry going stiff as the man came up to him at last, raising the diadem to Harry's head.

"Do not be afraid, child," the Dark Wizard said, almost gently. "We are past the agency of screams."

And then the world _exploded,_ or so it seemed.

Over and over, as blasts of sound and fury echoed about the room, mingled with the sound of the servant of Grindelwald _screaming_ as a silhouetted form rushed forward and _embraced_ the Dark Wizard, pressing herself against him.

Realizing what she had planned, the foe acted.

" _ **Avada kedavra!"**_ the Dark Servant cried out, but it was too late, for even as a sickly green flash erupted from his body to strike the girl who had gotten close to him, the dozens upon dozens of vials of Exploding Potion she carried on her form erupted in a mighty roar, sending the enemy – and the Diadem he clung to – flying into the barrier of black flame, where the Servant of Grindelwald – and the Horcrux he had hoped to use to revive his Master – was burned to ash, found unworthy by the magic of the Diadem itself, with Sokaris going the other, her body broken and charred, already dead as she was thrown on the altar-like pedestal where the diadem had rested.

With the ancient artifact that powered the defenses no longer in existence, the barrier of flame winked out, with the other Stone Cutters rushing though the doorway with wands drawn to find a tied up Harry, no longer rigid from Dark Wizard's spell, and –

"No!"

—the broken body of Sialim Sokaris, who had given her life to stop the Servant of Grindelwald in the only way she could – by getting close enough that his defenses against her potions were meaningless.

Hillard and the Weasley Twins rushed to Harry's side, to see if he was alright and to free him from his bonds, but Matou Shinji did not, with his feet carrying him to the altar where Sokaris' body rested.

"No…" the boy repeated, his voice full of shock and utter disbelief. "Why?" Tenderly, he reached out to the charred form that in life had been his dearest friend, picking her up and cradling her close for the first – and last – time as he fell to his knees and wept.

And as the lights dimmed, the spotlight remained, shining bright on the Stone Cutters clustered around the Boy-Who-Lived. Matou Shinji, however, was not with them, lingering in the shadows with his beloved in his arms, his face looking down and away, grief writ across his features, as the curtain fell and Harry Potter – the true Harry Potter – took to the stage.

"There isn't a single person in the audience who doesn't know who I am: Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. You call me a hero for what I did, for stopping the Dark Lord when he was a child, and yet I have heroes of my own. My comrades, my brothers-in-arms, the Stone Cutters, without whom I would not be here today. This play is the story of our first adventure – the days we shared, the trials we faced, the foes we fought – and the friend we lost," Harry said, looking out at a silent crowd. "I am not the hero of this particular story. That honor belongs to all of those who stood with me against the troll, and especially to the late Sialim Sokaris, who died fighting the darkness so that I – so that countless others – could live. Her sacrifice laid the foundations for what we would become – the cornerstone of the nation's defense. But the cornerstone does not stand alone…" The boy paused for a moment to let the weight of his words sink in. "Tonight, I stand before you, not as a hero, not as the Boy-Who-Lived, but as a comrade. I stand before you as someone who has seen the darkness in the world and the bitter cost it has imposed on far too many of us. I stand before you to invite you to join me in standing against that darkness, in standing against fear, in standing against those who seek our end, because I tell you the truth when I say that together, we can – we will – overcome. I know you are afraid, that you think what is coming may be beyond you, that you wonder if anything we can do will be enough, but I tell you this – that if we stand united, if we support each other, standing side by side as heroes, comrades, brothers-in-arms, we can – and will – prevail, even if the world is against us. This I promise. This I vow, my friends, my comrades, my fellow citizens…and heroes."

* * *

In the wake of the play, Matou Shinji found himself rather emotionally overwhelmed, and not in the mood to say much to anyone – least of all nosy reporters who wanted to know what he thought of the…production. Still, the boy knew he had to say something, so he simply told them that he thought the cast and crew should be proud of how hard they worked, and that he hoped the play would lift the spirits of those who needed it most.

That seemed to satisfy most of the journalists, who seeing that the boy seemed emotionally distraught, had the courtesy not to pry further – though Rita Skeeter was not deterred.

"One more question, if you wouldn't mind, Champion Matou?" the Daily Prophet columnist requested of him. When Shinji said nothing, she took it as her cue to continue. "Having seen the play and having heard quite a few juicy rumors, I'm sure our readers want to know – is it true that even now, years after her passing, you are more loyal to the memory of Sokaris to anyone – or anything else?" Skeeter inquired, glancing between Shinji, who tensed at the question, and Luna with interest. "After all, rumor has it that the reason you sought to become Champion – opposing the Boy-Who-Lived – the leader of your organization in his quest to follow in his mother's footsteps, was because of your devotion to your fallen comrade. Do you have any comment on this, or if your acquaintance with the late Sialim Sokaris has affected you in any other ways?"

"…I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," was all Shinji said by way of reply, only for Skeeter to nod and note it down.

"I see. Thank you for your time, Champion."

Thankfully for Matou Shinji, the remainder of the press conference passed without further incident, with his comrades – especially Harry – being asked the bulk of the questions, since he had been involved both with the events on which the play was based and with the actual writing of the play. Still, that was about it for the boy's endurance, however, and when the press conference gave way to the post-premiere after party, a celebration of the production's first performance for the cast, crew, and special guests (like the Stone Cutters and Ministry VIPs), Shinji had no interest in mingling with the crowd – even if some of them might want to meet him.

"If you want to leave, I don't mind," Luna whispered to him, taking his hand. "I'm not one for big parties anyway."

' _I do want to,'_ Shinji admitted, mind to mind, _'but it would look bad if I left before it even began, and didn't talk to anyone. They'd think I was…'_

'… _you_ are _a little troubled.'_

' _How about I talk to one person, then, so no one can say I didn't try at all?'_

' _Do you mean Miss Granger?'_

Shinji shook his head. If there was one thing he didn't think he could handle at the moment, it was a conversation with Hermione Granger, given their…history.

"Could you congratulate her for me?" he asked Luna. "I'm going to see if I can find someone else to talk to. And then after…" He squeezed her hand. "I have somewhere I want to show you."

Luna just smiled softly, as she released his hand and moved off to find Hermione – who was no longer in costume, who seemed less than entirely pleased to see her, while Shinji found his eye drawn to a woman dressed all in black sitting alone at a table, a woman whose long purple hair, purple eyes, and bronzed skin made her look almost exactly like the Director of Atlas currently did, only…Sion wouldn't, couldn't be here, not when she had so many other responsibilities.

So who was it that wore her face?

Shinji found himself _needing_ to know, despite knowing that it would probably lead to yet more rumors, and so he walked over to the woman, noting that she was nursing a glass of firewhiskey.

"…a metamorphmagus, are you?" he asked, as the other looked up.

"Oh. It's you," the other said gruffly, recognition flickering in her eyes after a moment. "What's it to you?"

"I think you have an idea, since I'm guessing you used that appearance to keep people from approaching you tonight," Shinji replied. "What brings you here? Are you part of the stage crew? Or…"

"A guest," the other noted tersely. "Like you."

"…Auror Tonks, I presume?" the Japanese boy guessed, with the woman blinking in surprise. "You're the only metamorphmagus I know, and I know you were involved with Hillard, so…"

"Smart boy," Tonks noted, shaking her head. "But _he_ always said you were. Though he also said you liked to involve yourself in other people's business too damned much."

"I would say I don't, but…I was just curious why you would wear…that face," Shinji said quietly. "It's not…" In good taste, he wanted to say, especially around people for whom her features would only further evoke memories the play had riled up.

"It's not by choice," the Auror answered, looking down with a sigh. "Hate to admit it, but metamorphmagi don't have as much control over what we look like when we're…strongly affected. It's why I'm on leave from active duty."

"Ah. My condolences," Shinji responded with a slight bow. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"You too, kid. He was your friend, right? Just like that Sokaris girl."

"…yeah, he was my friend," the Japanese boy admitted. "Not like Sokaris though. No one was – is – like her."

"You still think about her?"

"All the time."

Nymphadora Tonks shook her head once more, a sad smile gracing her lips.

"So…does it get any easier? Three years down the line and all?"

Shinji looked down.

"I wish I could say yes to that."

"…I wish you could too," Tonks replied after nearly a minute. "You'd better go," she added, glancing over towards the entrance to the Great Hall.

"Hm?"

"Your lady friend," the Auror said laconically, with Shinji glancing over and finding this was so. "Lovegood. She's waiting for you. Go."

"…Right then. Take care, Professor." He paused, not knowing the right words to say. "And feel better."

"Heh. Maybe when I finish this Firewhiskey," Tonks muttered, waving him off as she downed the entire glass in a single go, before stalking over to the bar for another, while Shinji moved over the entrance of the Great Hall, where Luna waited, with her white fox upon her shoulder – a perch the creature vacated in favor of Shinji's more fluffy head.

"Finished already?" he asked. "I'm surprised, I thought Hermione would have wanted to say more."

"Mm, she's talking to Fred now," Luna commented. "I don't think she likes me very much."

"…no, I guess she might not," Shinji allowed, shaking his head as he held out his hand, with Luna intertwining her fingers with his. "Ready to go?"

"Of course," Luna murmured, squeezing his hand. "But what did you want to show me?"

The boy smiled faintly at her question.

"Why, a perfect autumn day."


	37. Journey

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 37.** _Journey_

After so long immersed within the world of magic, his days spent either at _Mahoutokoro,_ Hogwarts or Durmstrang – or at his manor house in London, Matou Shinji found it strange to be walking along the ancient paths between the villages of the Kitayama Mountains, in the company of Luna Lovegood, who was taking in the lush scenery of the world around them, and Sajyou Ayaka, the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ , who he and Luna were attending.

It had been a long time since the three of them had last traveled together, with the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ having been volunteered by her Master to escort the boy and his companion northward on their quest to obtain familiars. As Shinji recalled, Sajyou-san had been – rather justifiably – displeased with him on that expedition for a good many reasons, of which the least had been his lack of experience with essential survival skills like foraging and cooking, and in general, his failure to adequately prepare himself for a long journey to the northern lands.

' _She would have been well within her rights to send me back to_ Mahoutokoro, _ending my_ _quest only a day after it began. But she did not. Whether it was because of Kaiduka's instructions, the presence of Luna – who was more prepared and quite eager to explore, or simply because of a bit of well-hidden kindness in her, she did not…'_

Instead, the older practitioner of witchcraft had taught him enough for him to complete his journey without coming to terrible harm, correcting his fumbling efforts at using yin abilities, helping him distinguish the edible from the deadly toxic, giving him a healthy appreciation for the majesty – and danger – of the natural world. By the end of his month-long trek across Hokkaido, the boy had become far more than what he had once been, and so had been given a familiar by the great tree of _Shiretoko_.

Zelkova, the _kodama_ in question, had been patient with him, helping him to lay aside his pride to learn more about the Eastern Arts, with earth manipulation in particular being what he'd focused on last year. He'd been sorely tempted to learn advanced water manipulation instead, given that earth was the most _defensive_ of the major elements, while his mindset was more suited for _offense_ and destruction, but those who had taught him had strongly suggested otherwise, as they believed that he lacked the fine control he would need to master the more fluid element of water.

' _And they were right,'_ Shinji reflected. _'If I had focused on water as opposed to earth, I might have lost control and caused my own destruction – or hurt someone else.'_

There had been moments last year when his sanity had fled him, when, pushed beyond the limits of what he could bear, Matou Shinji had lashed out with everything he had, unleashing a terrible force of destruction upon whatever had provoked him. Had he lost control of a water-based dire spell, one of those terrible curses meant to cause all it touched to rot away from within, the consequences could have been dire.

He didn't think that would be a problem _anymore_ , but there was so much he still needed to learn, especially if he wished to stand a chance in the Potions Championship, as the other Champions he'd met were both older and better trained than he was at the art of brewing, to say nothing of their unique specialties (in combat and otherwise).

At least the Champion of _Mahoutokoro,_ Sajyou Ayaka, had further trained him in the art of survival and in Eastern brewing techniques over the last few months, in the potions laboratories or on trips into the mountains, in exchange for access to the _Book of Potions_ , the ancient tome containing the spirit of Zygmunt Budge, with which he'd been entrusted as the British Champion. While some would have wondered what was going through his head to simply give one of his few advantages away – and to the favorite to win, no less – he felt it was a small price to pay, really, given that to have any chance of victory in the Championship, he must first be able to _survive._

This particular journey would be his last chance to learn from Sajyou-san, as following this excursion around the mountainous area of greater Kyoto, the young raven-haired woman would be setting out on what amounted to a two-month long pilgrimage, seeking the blessing of the _youkai_ lords and a chance to learn from their ancient wisdom, a pilgrimage that would last until the day before the events surrounding the Potion Championship officially began.

Ordinarily, Ayaka would have set out alone, but these were unusual times, given that Shinji – a boy of Japan – was also a Champion, though not the Japanese Champion, and so, she had invited him to join her on the first leg of her pilgrimage when she saw him nearing the _Root of the Sky_ , Matsuo-san's shop – extending the invitation to Luna, when Shinji had sheepishly mentioned that he had been meaning to ask the Maiden of the Tree if it would be fine to bring the young Ravenclaw girl to Japan to show her the splendor of the autumn foliage.

"Lovegood-san would not be unpleasant as a fellow traveler," Sajyou-san had admitted, mentioning that the sites they were to visit were some of the loveliest to observe the changing colors of the trees. "And it would not be inappropriate for her to visit the great shrine of Inari, given her familiar."

Sajyou-san had left them with a day to prepare for the journey ahead, mentioning that this time around, in addition to the basic survival gear Shinji was used to, he and Lovegood would need traditional garments – _kimonos_ – something the boy hadn't been expecting, given that their training trips were no occasion for such things.

Still, he knew better than to disobey – and there was a part of him that was excited at the prospect of buying – and wearing – new finery, and feeling important after how the British had portrayed him in that abomination of a play. It may have been true that Sokaris was his first priority in all things, even now, but that was no reason to depict him as a weak-willed fool who was merely the tagalong in someone else's tale, with his most important contributions dismissed entirely.

Matsuo Hijiri had raised an eyebrow at his request to allow someone from Magical Britain to use the Vanishing Cabinet connection, but had given her approval readily enough when he mentioned that the person in question was Luna, who had not only come to Japan before, but had obtained a _kitsune_ – a servant of Inari – as a familiar.

"If she is the one you mean, that will be no trouble," the Maiden of the Tree had said after a moment. "The Tree knows her well, and her companion. Others would be perhaps less welcome, but I suspect you already knew that."

Shinji had nodded – he knew that some would have difficulty accepting how things were done in _Mahoutokoro_ , given how different things were from the west – and that in any case, he would need to be careful about who he informed of the passageway's existence, given that in Magical Britain, such a link – being unknown to and unregulated by the Ministry – was quite illegal, and could cause him no end of trouble if the wrong person were to learn of it.

"Good," Matsuo Hijiri had said approvingly. "Be about your business, Matou. If you are to join Sajyou-san on her pilgrimage, you have preparations to attend to."

"How did you…?"

"Kaiduka may be her Master and the Second Owner of Kyoto, but he is _my_ familiar," the older woman had intoned wryly. "And I am not…unaware of traditions."

"…I'll keep that in mind," Shinji had stated, inclining his head. "My thanks."

With that, the boy had returned to his manor in London to fetch Luna and tell her the news that they would be accompanying Sajyou-san on another journey, something the young blonde had been fairly pleased about, as she thought well of the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ , given that the bespectacled young woman had been the one to teach her how to use yang energy for healing.

She didn't exactly hate the idea of learning more of Shinji's homeland, or spending time with her lover in a place that was not so driven by hate, and where hair like spun gold was seen as exotic and beautiful.

So the two had made their preparations, preparing the provisions they would need as well as a set of _kimonos_ for the visits to the temples, with the garments fascinating Luna in how like and unlike wizard robes they were, and Pandora looking on curiously.

The next day, the party of three had met shortly after sunrise on the ledge by the portal to the city above, with Shinji shifting uneasily in a midnight blue kimono, while he carried a large rucksack of the same, unused to the Japanese garment after so long wearing western attire, while Luna seemed as comfortable in her _kimono_ of midnight blue embroidered with a delicate spray of falling stars in silver and gold, with an _obi_ matching the golden sheen of her hair, as she did in anything else, or in nothing at all.

Unsurprisingly, the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ seemed comfortable in her formal kimono – a luxurious item colored the pink-orange of dawn embroidered with the outline of a host of black wings, offset with a black obi patterned with gold.

"Shall we be off?" Sajyou Ayaka had asked simply, looking over her travelling companions and finding their appearance…acceptable.

"Mm," Shinji had grunted. "Where to first?"

"The Fushimi Inari Shine," the bespectacled Witch had noted, as she stepped through the portal, and out of the Great Weeping Cherry from _Mahoutokoro_ into Kyoto, with the others following.

It was perhaps only appropriate that their first destination be such, given that the ancient shrine was chief among the places of veneration devoted to Inari – the Shinto god of rice, tea and worldly success – not to mention the patron deity of the _kitsune_ who was Ayaka's master – and Second Owner of Kyoto. The start of a journey was just as important as how it ended, after all, and so Ayaka had dedicated most of the day to seeing the shrine and the grounds around it.

A day that was needed, given to that truly appreciate the shrine was to do more than simply hike the path lined with thousands of vermillion _torii_ gates that led from the base of Mount Inari to its summit.

Indeed, with the trio and their familiars spending some time reflecting on the choices they'd made in life as they walked, detouring now and then to the smaller shrines, and idling in the sacred groves of the Mountain – Zelkova in particular taking some time to commune with the old pines and maples – it took the better part of the day, with the remainder filled out with a visit to Tenryu-ji Temple, taking in the sights of its serene, expansive gardens and how the steep mountains of Arashiyama formed a wonderful backdrop to the living greens and reds and oranges of the trees, as well as seeing the haunting isolation of the famous bamboo grove just outside the temple.

They'd stayed in a ryokan – a traditional inn – close to the temple that night, enjoying a soak in the hot springs and a traditional meal, the last night of comfort before a long day of hiking uphill into the wilderness on the morrow to reach the village of Takao, nestled among slopes and mountainsides festooned with colorful maples.

Though Takao was not far from Arashiyama as the crow flew, or even by bus, it was quite a different matter to travel that distance on foot, but fortunately for the group, they were seasoned hikers – or at least, two of them were, with Shinji having gained some affinity for it – and so the three made good time, even as they enjoyed the area.

"So what is there to see in Takao?" Shinji wondered aloud. Somewhat sheepishly, he admitted to not knowing much about the particulars of the villages around Kyoto – or of most of the shrines they hid. "Aside from the beautiful landscape, that is."

"Three temples," Ayaka replied evenly, dressed in a different kimono – a red one – though this one too, was patterned with a motif of raven wings. Shinji and Luna, not having brought multiple kimonos with them, made do with what they had worn the day before, simply cleaned with household spells. "Jingo-ji. Kozan-ji. And Saimyo-ji."

"You've been there before?" Shinji asked curiously.

"I have," the bespectacled Champion admitted. "My Master took me to Takao long ago, and to neighboring Atago, the home of many _tengu_. It was on that sacred mountain that I received my own familiar, after a return from a journey not unlike your own."

"What can we expect to see?" Luna inquired.

"A great staircase and kawarake-nage at Jingo-ji," Ayaka began, with the latter referring to a ritual in which one tossed small clay discs to rid oneself of bad karma – something Shinji thought he could well use himself. "The Choju-Jinbutsu-giga at Kozan-ji, a set of four pictures scroll depicting the story of animals preparing for a ceremony."

"Choju-Jinbutsu-giga," Shinji repeated, "…animal-person caricatures. Four scrolls…so like a yonkoma manga."

"…yes," the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ replied after a beat. "Possibly the first manga of all. Does such…interest you?"

"…to a degree," Shinji admitted with a small smile. He wasn't Tohsaka, after all, who wanted nothing to do with anything sold in Akihabara. "I didn't think I'd find the original manga in a temple, not, in a museum or some great vault."

"It depicts animals preparing for a great ceremony, involving a funeral and prayer to Buddha," Ayaka commented. "Perhaps it is the subject matter. Kozan-ji is also known for being the first place in Japan where tea was grown."

"Mm, part of Inari's domain," Luna noted.

"Yes."

"And at Saimyo-ji?" Shinji asked, curious now, since Sajyou-san seemed rather familiar with where they were to go. "What great wonders will we find there?" After hearing about the first two

"…the Shigetsukyo Bridge. The view of the Kiyotaki River. And hot pot."

Shinji blinked.

"…did you say 'hot pot'?" the boy inquired. "Why is that a wonder?"

Sajyou-san just gave the younger Champion walking with her a _look._

"It is wondrous in how it sates one's hunger after a long morning hike," the bespectacled Champion noted simply. "And how it fortifies for the journey to Mount Atago."

"Ah, and who or what is enshrined there?"

"Fire. Or rather, Atago Gongen, protector against fire."

"…now that sounds like a kami whose blessing that would be useful for an onmyouji," Shinji remarked, remembering that one of the weaknesses an ofuda-user had to deal with was the weakness of paper talismans to flame. "Have others from _Mahoutokoro_ made a pilgrimage here?"

"Some. To pay one's respects at the temples of Kyoto is traditional."

"I suppose it is better to have the spirit world happy, rather than not, especially when one's familiar is a spirit," Luna chimed in.

"Indeed," Ayaka confirmed, though she said little else as the trio made their way first to Takao, and then to the holy mountain of Atago, enjoying the thousands of shades of yellow, orange and red of the leaves, the coolness of the river breeze, and the quiet, away from the crowds of Kyoto or the other places they usually spent much of their time.

There was a certain power to be found in the natural world, after all, especially by those who were not entirely human, and saw more of the truth of the world than those were content to accept the veneer of civilization and live within its trappings.

Once or twice along the way, Shinji thought he might have seen the passing of figures with great black wings, but when he asked Sajyou-san, the elder Champion said nothing, though Luna whispered to him that she saw them too, reassuring him that he was as sane as she was, as she twined her fingers with his.

To others, this might not have exactly been a comfort, but it was to Matou Shinji, since he knew about the petite blonde than many did, and had never found her to be as loony as most had once assumed.

' _Britain tars me with that brush now, I suppose. Or if not exactly with that brush, then one close enough to it.'_ In the wilderness, away from the squabbles of the distant land which he represented as Champion, it was…easier not to hate them. To let some of his anger go as he breathed in and out and in and out. _'When you're afraid, it's easier to hide that fear with anger than admit to being scared. Fear is a deadly foe, in its own way, even if the wounds it deals are quite unseen.'_

He must have said that last bit aloud, as Ayaka glanced at him with an unreadable expression, before looking away.

"Perhaps. I find that often, hunger is more often the enemy."

"Hunger?" Shinji echoed, with his stomach choosing just that moment to growl, illustrating the young woman's point.

"Hunger, yes – in all its many forms."

* * *

The trio spent much time walking along the paths of the Kitayama Mountains that week, sometimes foraging, sometimes talking, talking of beasts and stories and things yet to be.

"I have to ask, why a solitary pilgrimage?" Shinji wondered, as they made their way along a winding trail towards the village of Kurama, said to be the home of Sōjōbō, King of the Tengu, as well as the birthplace of Reiki, a version of yang manipulation that even those without magical talent could use. "Why not spend the time in _Mahoutokoro_ , training for the championship, or working with others? Surely that would be a more practical use of your time than going out into the wilds, seeking the blessing of the _youkai_ lords."

"Perhaps," Ayaka admitted, shrugging simply. "But there is more to being a Champion than having skill and power. To be a Champion is to have a connection with the land and those within it, to know and understand the hidden truths within oneself and within the world around you. To know what you can do, and what is best to do in a scene, in a moment."

"That sounds…"

"…like fusion," Luna supplied, her silvery eyes looking at the kimono-clad form of Sajyou Ayaka curiously. "Seeing the truth of things."

"In a way," the raven-haired woman noted simply. "The pilgrimage is as much a journey of self-discovery and cleansing as it is about as it is about seeking the blessings of the _youkai_ and paying respect to those who came before. _Mahoutokoro_ is my home, but it is not in the comfort of one's home that one finds oneself, is it?"

"…no, it isn't," Shinji murmured thoughtfully. In that light, he supposed it would explain why it was he had learned so much about himself at Hogwarts, since Britain was decidedly not his home. But… "I don't think a pilgrimage is exactly an option for me, sadly. I have much to learn and work on before the Championship, instruction to take, and politics to deal with."

"Unfortunate," Ayaka voiced.

"So it is," the boy agreed. "Would you have any suggestions in lieu of a long journey?"

The Champion of _Mahoutokoro's_ reply was immediate: "A quest."

"A…quest?" Shinji repeated.

"Indeed. Beyond the obligations of your training, set a great task for yourself, one that will require everything you have if you are to succeed. Complete it, and let what you do teach you of yourself and what you need."

"What kind of task?" Luna questioned.

But Sajyou Ayaka simply shook her head.

"What you seek in a quest is something personal, and so I cannot say what it may be, save that it must be difficult, and not easily accomplished."

Shinji thought about what a good "quest" might be, one that would help bring him closer to what he wished to be, even if it didn't match the difficulty of what Sajyou-san intended.

A number of things came to mind, most of them highly impractical, given the time constraints he was under, and how many restrictions he was under, compared to the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ …

'… _I suppose I could set myself to catching Fred's stray_ tanuki, _which is causing_ all manner of _trouble around Durmstrang for Fleur, and others.'_

It would fit with his promise to protect the part-Veela as well, though he wasn't sure if he'd be able to track down a rogue shapeshifting _youkai_ on his own, given that such a creature could be anyone or anything.

' _You will not be alone, Master,'_ the voice of Zelkova spoke in the boy's head. _'I will be there to aid you.'_

' _That is true, but…'_

' _I understand. Even so, it may be difficult. Will you seek allies?'_

That was a good question, and one Matou Shinji did not have an answer to just yet, given that seeking allies to capture the _tanuki_ also meant admitting to them what such a being was a capable of.

' _And of course, figuring out what I would owe them.'_

Perhaps Pansy would be willing to be of some assistance in exchange for a favor, or Rachelle Lestrange, given that she had a vested interest in protecting Fleur as well.

' _This requires some thinking.'_

Think on it he would as the group journeyed on, until the sun dipped below the horizon and even they needed to set up camp for the night.

"There will be no need to keep watch this night," Ayaka mentioned quietly, much to Shinji's relief, as she quickly made some _kitsune_ udon, with the scent of the fragrant soup sending the fatigue of a long day's trek flying away. There was a bit of night-time sparring to follow, with Shinji and Luna facing first each other, and then the Champion of _Mahoutokoro._

 _S_ adly, they could not defeat her, as their elemental spells simply _dissolved_ when they came close to her, any attempts at physical attacks were knocked away by a wall of black feathers, and all of their non-elemental abilities were countered with ease.

Well, almost all.

A desperate attack combining Luna's yang prana and Shinji's yin managed to break through Sajyou Ayaka's defenses, knocking her backwards, at which point the Witch finally retaliated, with a single wave of darkness knocking both of them unconscious and forcing them out of fusion.

"…how strange," Ayaka murmured in the aftermath, raising an eyebrow as she healed them. "I did not think two so young would be able to combine their prana in such a way. Such a thing is rare indeed, given the mastery of one's alignment and the absolute trust of another it implies. The former can be boosted by fusion. The latter…cannot."

Perhaps there was something special about the two. Or perhaps she simply lived in interesting times.

They reached the village of Kurama the following day, and took their time looking about and seeking refreshment in the famous baths of the town before climbing the mountain, heading for the great temple at its peak, where a trinity of deities embodying the sun, mercy, and power were worshipped, though they stopped for a time at Yuki-Jinja, a rustic, mossy shrine to Ōkuninushi, ruler of the unseen world of spirits and magic, where they encountered an old man with long white hair, wearing a red _haori_ over the distinctive white robes of a _yamabushi_ , one of the Japanese mountain hermits that Shinji had once read about, but never seen, and carrying a fan made from seven dark feathers.

"You have come a long way, children of the sun," the man observed, his odd golden eyes looking over the group, lingering for a moment on Luna before they came to rest on Sajyou Ayaka. "Tell me, what do you seek?"

"Wisdom," the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ replied, inclining her head to the old one.

"Indeed? And you, fellow travelers?" the old man inquired, turning his attention to the others. "What do you seek? Power, perhaps? Courage? A purpose?"

"Understanding," Luna answered.

"An understanding of what, child?"

"The world – and myself."

"Mm." The ascetic commented, his piercing golden gaze falling on Matou Shinji, and the world itself seemed to fall away, with all else going grey except him and the old man – who Shinji supposed was not a man at all. "And you, champion of another land? What do you seek?"

"…power," was Shinji's response, looking up to meet the other's eyes with determination. "Power enough to achieve the goals I set for myself. Power to overcome fear. Power, that I might change my course."

"I see…" the hermit mused. "But Matou Shinji, power did not help Ushiwakamaru in the end, nor did it help your grandfather. Not when one lacks a true purpose."

"How do you…"

"You are in my domain, child – and here, there is little I do not know," the other spoke solemnly. "Tell me, do you know who I am?"

"…if this is your domain, then you are the lord of the mountain – the King of the Tengu himself."

"And do you believe power is a thing simply granted, without struggle or effort?" the _tengu_ lord pressed.

"No, but it is what I desire," Shinji replied, thinking about how far he had yet to go to reach the level of some like Sokaris. "That is why I strive, why I struggle, why I go on. For the power I need to reach…to reach the one I seek."

"Yet under that is anger…and guilt. Guilt that you could not become what others wished you to be. Anger that in spite of all you have done, the ones you once called family did not recognize your achievements. The ones who call you Champion belittle you. That those you once helped have grown so distant."

"…I…" Shinji paused, shaking his head as he looked out at the grey, lifeless world around him. "That's…"

"I do not say your rage is without cause," the white-robed _youkai_ said to him solemnly. "But to one whose mind is clouded so, I cannot grant a blessing of power. Nor would you truly accept it if I did."

"…I see."

"I will grant you instead another blessing," the _tengu_ continued. "A blessing for the day when power and rage avail you not, when neither training, nor skill, nor even technique bring you victory."

"What blessing?"

"A blessing of courage," came the reply. "For in those times, training is nothing. Will is everything. The will to live. The will to die. The will to act."

With that, the world resumed its color, and the man – no, the _tengu king_ – disappeared from sight, with Shinji finding that everything was as it had been, save for one interesting thing: Pandora, perched on Luna's shoulder, sported not one tail – but _two._

' _Huh. Interesting…'_

In silence, the company of three made their way back to the main road, and continued climbing the mountain, paying their respects at the great temple atop the peak, before continuing onwards down the other side to the rustic hamlet of Kibune, the final destination of this first leg of the pilgrimage. It took about an hour, but eventually they came upon the small village, where they proceeded at last to Kifune-jinja, a lovely little shrine midway through the settlement, dedicated to the god of water and rain, with the picturesque approach – a flight of stone steps lined with red lanterns, with visitors walking through natural torii formed by hundreds of trees whose autumn foliage glowed in the afternoon sun – seeming almost magical.

By now, the three knew well the rituals of purification visitors were expected to undergo before entering a shrine, cleaning their hands and mouths with sacred water, and as they finished going through the process, Sajyou Ayaka spoke at last.

"I thank you for accompanying me, on this journey," she said quietly. "On the morrow, we will part ways, with myself continuing onwards, and you returning to Kyoto by bus, but it has been…an interesting experience to have company."

"It has," Shinji agreed. "Thank you for inviting me along. I…have much to think about, much to do, and much to learn."

"As do I," Luna murmured. "And Pandora also, I expect."

"Such is the nature of such a journey," Ayaka noted solemnly. "Let us venture inwards and gain a final blessing of water, to go with earth, fire, wood and steel."

And so they did, making their wishes before the inner sanctum of the shrine, and obtaining fortunes revealed in the shrine's sacred water, before they departed the holy site in acquiescence to the demands of their bodies, partaking of a dinner of nagashi somen – a flowing noodle dish where tiny bundles of noodles are delivered to diners through a bamboo half-pipe carrying a stream of ice-cold water, with diners needing to snatch the bundles up with chopsticks and dip them into a provided bowl of sauce – in celebration of what they had accomplished.

* * *

When they returned to _Mahoutokoro,_ Matou Shinji and Luna Lovegood found Tsuchimikado Hokuto waiting for them. She had heard that the two had gone with Sajyou Ayaka, and so wished to test herself against the both of them – with her using the fullness of her might against Luna and Shinji in the fullness of theirs.

The battle, such that it was, was an interesting affair, one that was less about sheer force, and more about maneuvering, detection, evasion and deflection, with the patterns of the world shifting over and over, the speed and power of fusion competing with the abilities of a fully unleashed _satori_ user as flames swallowed flames, _ofuda_ clashed with _ofuda_ , and shadows and mirrors danced with _shikigami_ that took their master's form.

Wind countered wind, earth was overcome by wood, and even Shinji's yin prana, which he'd summoned to counter the Tsuchimikado girl's jet-black threads, as he had no desire to be made into a puppet, was consumed by shadowy flames from an opponent who seemed to be everywhere, attacking from all directions – even from in the air itself – with blow, after blow, after blow.

Were Matou Shinji facing his opponent alone, he would have lasted only seconds, as he had gravely underestimated what she was capable of, given how he had nearly defeated her last time they had fought.

He had never encountered anyone who could wrest control of the world around him away from him once he was in fusion – even Sajyou-san had simply disrupted his attacks in a sphere around her instead of being so aggressive. More than the shock of not being able to control the world around him, however, was the confusion and disorientation of not even being able to feel it – of lacking the supreme awareness of the world he had come to expect when _fused_.

Luna fared somewhat better, given that with Pandora gaining a new tail, she herself seemed to have unlocked a new ability – a shimmering cloak of prana that surrounded her form when she was visible, allowing her to resist the shadowy flame attack that the Tsuchimikado heiress used, though even resistance only went so far when one was being assailed by a dozen enemies at once.

In the end, Tsuchimikado Hokuto won the confrontation, but she would admit that the match had not been entirely one-sided, which excited her, given that she had been looking for a challenge which would give her a good fight even if she went all out – a challenge which, unlike Sajyou Ayaka, wasn't insurmountable.

' _They are young yet, and their grasp over the powers is still rough from inexperience, but in time each may become quite a worthy challenge,'_ she thought with a trace of a smile. _'Even for a half-kitsune satori user like myself.'_

At least, if both struggled and worked to learn their arts to the best of their ability.

Would they thrive and become stronger, knowing there were greater powers in the world and challenges to meet? Or would they simply remain as they were, complacent in what they had gained?

"Become stronger," she murmured to no one in particular, speaking her wish aloud. "Strong enough to defeat me."


	38. The Hanged (Wo)man

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 38.** _The Hanged (Wo)man_

For weeks, Tohsaka Rin had delayed in replying to Matou Shinji's request to meet, uncertain of what he would say – what he would offer – what she wanted him to say. After all, the boy seemed to follow none of the unwritten rules by which magi lived, with much of what had transpired between them being far more generous than anyone could reasonably expect from a colleague, and without the expectation of reciprocity thus far.

Were they friends, then? The Japanese magus wanted to think so, but if she was being honest with herself, they saw each other so rarely and had parted on such awkward terms that it was hard to be sure. She had laughed at him once. Thought he was but a fool and a weakling who would never amount to much, and yet…

In many ways, his kindness shamed her, not least because she knew she wasn't worthy of it, and hadn't done anything to deserve it. As a magus, she worried about the hidden costs behind what he'd given her, the unspoken price he might one day exact, especially as she didn't think there _was_ anything she could give him that would be enough.

Rin had hoped, when Mashu came to visit her, delivering a missive from Matou, that the letter might shed some light on what it was that the boy wanted, but the note had been brief and to the point, a request to meet at a rather posh restaurant in London at a time of her choosing, without mentioning the purpose of such a rendezvous.

Indeed, the only thing she gleaned from it was the knowledge that Matou trusted _Mashu_ implicitly, confirming her growing suspicion that the girl she'd known as a rather earnest live-in maid and fellow student at the Tower was far more than she appeared.

Eventually, however, no matter how much she would have liked to dither and dally, hem and haw, she had been compelled to set a date, and now, on the eve of the fated encounter, as she lay in her dormitory bed, Tohsaka Rin lay awake, restless, a thousand terrible thoughts flying through her mind like a murder of crazed crows.

' _Is Mashu not just Matou's maid…but his mistress?'_

It was odd how Matou trusted the strawberry blonde to keep his secrets, despite only having met her in the past few years, as well as how she had access to his resources. She was a couple of years older than they were, true, but all the same…

'… _was that why he didn't…take me…that night? Because she was there, listening?'_

That was…strangely plausible, given Matou's undeniable charm and power, and the admirers he unwittingly attracted – people like that bushy-haired girl she had met during the winter holidays, who had been so _hurt_ at the knowledge Matou had bought a house for her.

' _No…that can't be,'_ Tohsaka told herself, shaking her head as she waited for a sleep that would not come. _'Isn't he…with Lovegood?'_

That was what he had told her that terrible night, after all, but…was it the truth? Or…

' _Was there something else?'_

Neither was a particularly settling thought – the first because it meant that the first person in her life since her mother was lost to her was beyond her reach – that she'd lost the opportunity to get close to the only person who seemed to really care about her.

Perhaps she should have used the mechanical owl he'd given her to send him letters more often before things had come to this, but she'd been…comfortable with their relationship, had thought there would be plenty of opportunities for them to see each other, and anyway, had liked the owl where it was, given that its presence was a reminder that someone was there for her.

That Matou Shinji, a boy she'd thought little of and had belittled, had held no grudge, and had not forgotten about her after his rise to glory. Quite a contrast to the fake priest who had been her father's student, who owed so much to her father, yet had never cared about her one bit.

If he'd lied that fateful night, though…maybe he wasn't the noble knight she hoped he was, but the dangerous, canny magus she feared he might be, an amoral schemer to whom manipulation came as easily as breathing – and who might well have caused his family's death at the hands of the Einzbern, since he just so happened to be the sole survivor of their wrath.

' _No,'_ she told herself, a shiver running down her spine at the thought of the boy coldly smiling as the rest of the Matous were cut down in a sea of blood. _'Matou's not like that. He's not. He's_ _ **not.**_ _'_

Yet, despite her repeated attempts to reassure herself that her benefactor wasn't that sort of person, a part of her – the part raised as a magus – had its doubts.

After all, how well did she really know Matou Shinji?

The thought would remain with Tohsaka Rin as the raven-haired girl drifted away into the world of dreams.

* * *

When she came to awareness again, the young magus found herself somewhere else altogether, and without any of the grogginess or soreness she usually felt in the morning, though she flinched as she opened her eyes upon the rising – or was it the setting – sun? The air was chill and brisk around her, as one might expect of London in November, and with a shiver, Tohsaka Rin realized that she was dressed only in her pajamas, as she sat on a worn wooden bench in the middle of what looked like a park that had seen better days.

' _Where am I?'_

She looked around, but didn't see anything of note, save for a vast lake the bench faced, a body of water that stretched into the distance, the light of the sun glittering like shards of broken glass on its surface. Surrounding her in every other direction was a thick, shadowy copse of withered old trees that blocked her vision, with no immediately apparent paths leading through it.

There was no sign of a boat, either, of footsteps, or anything other mode of conveyance that might have brought her here.

Not that such things mattered much to powerful magi.

As her eyes grew used to the light, however, Rin came to realize she was not alone, as a slim figure around her size rose from where it had been crouched by the water, facing away from her.

"Who…?" the Tohsaka heiress spoke quietly, her mouth dry as her mind raced, considering the situation she was in. Why was she here? Who was this other person? Were they responsible for…? But Rin shook her head. Panic wouldn't help her here. "Who are you?"

"No hello, Nee-san?" the other replied after a long moment, turning to reveal the face of someone Rin hadn't seen in a long, long time. The face of someone Rin knew to be _dead._

"Sak…sakura?" Rin stammered, her thoughts thrown into utter disarray by the presence of her…by the girl who had once been her sister. "What are you…?"

"Thinking like a magus again, Nee-san?" the purple-haired girl asked, though her eyes seemed an odd color in the sunlight, almost as if they were a deep shade of red. "How like you. But then, that was what Father wanted you to be."

"Uh…"

"You followed in his footsteps, even gained a Master other magi would kill for," the girl who looked like Sakura wondered aloud, with Rin powerless to face her accusations. "Even though you're bad with people, even though you can't show what you really feel, you've been given so much. Even Nii-san thinks the world of you. He bought you a house, gave you his Master, showed you more kindness than he showed his own family, but it's not enough for you…is it?"

"…what…what are you—?" Rin began, only for the other to speak once more.

"You're not happy, Nee-san, because everyone who knows the real Tohsaka Rin has thought of her as worthless," the one who looked like Matou Sakura spoke in a honeyed voice, the beatific smile on her kind features quite at odds with her words. "El Melloi II hates you and everything you stand for. Your Master can't stand how weak you are, and would rather have Matou as her apprentice again. Even Mashu and Matou don't want to spend more time with you than they have to."

Rin flinched.

"I—"

"Do you know why that is, Nee-san?" the other asked quietly. "It's because you don't care about anyone else but yourself."

Those words, though spoken in scarcely more than a murmur, seemed as loud to Tohsaka as a cannon's roar.

"You think you do, but the truth is you don't even know how to love someone," the other said to her. "You use them, and deep down inside you're afraid they're using you."

"Sakura, I—"

"But I'm not Sakura," the doppelganger cut off her reply as the features and form of her late sister dissolved, replaced with those of a much younger girl, a haughty child all in white, with sharp red eyes and silver hair. "After all, child of the Tohsaka, the Matous are dead, so there's no need to justify yourself to someone who you never really cared about to begin with, and no chance for redemption for your father's sins."

"Ein…Einzbern!" Rin cried out, recognizing the being before her as something powerful, but inhuman – a _homunculus_ – with a cruel smile as cold as the iron frost of winter. What…what was such a being doing here? How had it brought her here? What did…what did it want with her?

"That's right, _Rin_ ," the other said in saccharine tones, as crimson eyes looked into those the color of the sea, the other's gaze paralyzing her with the intensity of it. "But that's also wrong."

"Wh—"

"After all, if I was truly an Einzbern, then you'd be dead, Second Owner," this…apparition replied. "As dead as the sister you pretended to care about. As dead as the Matou patriarch. As dead as all of those who have dared to cross your benefactor, whether human, or wyvern, or more." The other laughed, a sound that for all its musical quality was perhaps the coldest, most inhuman thing the Tohsaka heiress had ever heard in her life. "But as it is, I am but a fragment of what you fear may come. Betrayal. Though I wonder – can you really call it that if you are just using each other?"

"And this?"

"This is the future you fear, but not one which will no doubt come. Take heart, Tohsaka Rin, your sister doesn't blame you," the other said diffidently. "She can't. She's dead. You're the one holding yourself back from what you could be, because your heart is closed and cold, because you're like me, an automaton of flesh and blood, born for a single purpose." And here the Einzbern lookalike _smiled_. "Do you deny it, magus?"

Rin wanted to. With all her heart, she did, but her lips wouldn't move.

"I didn't think so," the other noted. "But I suppose I will you do a kindness and put you out of misery."

The figure in white took a step towards her, then another, then another still, until she was standing before the Tohsaka heiress, placing an ice cold finger on the middle of the magus' forehead.

" _ **Wake up,"**_ the other intoned.

And with a scream of terrible pain – a scream that Rin only distantly recognized as issuing from her own throat, the world around her _shattered_ , returning her to the land of the living – to her private dorm room at the Department of Archaeology, trembling.

Tohsaka Rin did not manage to go back to sleep that night, spending her time instead going over what the specter had said, and how the meeting with Matou might end up, with her trying to plan out what to ask, how to respond, how she should act, though in the end, her efforts availed naught.

* * *

By the time the private car arrived at the Department of Archaeology that morning, the Tohsaka heiress had worked herself into a frenzy, as she had come to no real conclusions. Quite simply, she couldn't, not without more information – information she'd only be receive at the meeting, and it was driving her mad, because Tohsaka Rin did not like to be caught by surprise.

' _I'm not…really good at improvising,'_ she reflected. She never really had been, in all honesty, preferring the comfort of plans, routines, _something_ to stave off the unknown.

Still, if Tohsaka couldn't prepare herself for the meeting mentally, the heiress figured that she could at least make herself presentable, given that even Matou (hopefully) had some weaknesses. She didn't have much in the way of perfume here at dormitory, but she washed herself quite thoroughly, using the scented soaps and shampoos which were some of her few guilty pleasures and dressing in a sweater and skirt ensemble that she thought suited her nicely – and which Mashu had once complimented her on.

She'd wondered if Matou would come to pick her up, knowing he had requested the meeting, but she wasn't especially surprised to find that the one at her door was a certain Mashu Kyrielite, clad in a very flattering black and red dress that took Rin's breath away.

"Miss Tohsaka," the bespectacled girl greeted her with a nod. "Are you ready to go?"

"I am," Rin got out, blinking as she had never seen Mashu dressed quite this fancily before. Quite frankly, it made Rin feel a little under-dressed. "You look…nice." The second bit was little more than a whisper, but the maid…or was she more than that…acknowledged it with a nod and a faint smile.

"As do you, Miss Tohsaka," came the reply, one that made her feel more than a little warm inside. "Come with me."

"Yes," Rin said simply.

The car took them to Rules, the oldest restaurant in London, and dropped them off, with Mashu escorting her inside, walking her through the sumptuous surroundings, redolent with velvet and fine wood, the muted perfume of centuries of use clinging to the walls.

It was quite a luxurious place, if not as gaudy as the first restaurant Matou had invited her to long ago in London, and Tohsaka Rin felt distinctly out of place.

' _But Mashu looks comfortable here – do she and Matou…?'_

But Rin shook her head. It wouldn't help her to dwell on such things, especially as they seemed to have reached their destination: a cleverly hidden door, whose outlines were barely discernible against the oak paneling of the walls.

"Inside?"

"Yes," Mashu replied, tapping a pattern on the door, as an audible _click_ was heard. "Matou awaits."

The door slid open, and steeling her resolve, Tohsaka Rin entered.

* * *

Though the meal itself was no doubt delicious, Tohsaka barely remembered what it was she ate that day, as she was otherwise…distracted, her mind awhirl with thoughts about why Matou had called her here. The boy, for his part, seemed to be in no particular rush, contenting himself with asking about how things were going for her at the Department of Archaeology, under the tutelage of both Aozaki Touko and the famed Professor Lev.

' _He can't have gone through all that trouble…just to have lunch with me, could he?'_

"Better than when Lord El-Melloi was my supervisor," Rin admitted.

"Don't forget to call him El-Melloi II," Shinji quipped. "He hates it when people leave that bit out, or so I've heard."

"…I know," the Tohsaka heiress replied, her expression souring.

"Ah, sorry," Shinji noted, seeming to realize he'd hit a sore spot. Changing the topic, he regaled her with some news about the latest life-and-death challenge he was embarked on, some sort of "Potions Championship" to occur on a hidden isle isolated from the common sense of the modern era, a trial of arms and brewing skill in a place where creatures of legend remained.

"That sounds…rather dangerous, Matou-kun," Rin allowed, wondering why it was the boy seemed not at all nervous about the event in question. Surely, even as powerful as he was, the prospect of risking his life was not a pleasant one, even if it was something magi did by necessity. "Especially since you will be alone, yes?"

"That's right. This isn't something where my companions will be able to help me," Shinji replied, his steel-grey eyes calm – almost too calm. "This is something I must face alone, with every ounce of skill and power I have won over the years."

"What…what is the prize for something like this?" the Tohsaka heiress wondered aloud. Given that she was the heiress to one of the Three Founding Families, Rin was well aware that a dangerous tournament involving a fight to the death lay in her future, and presumably Matou's as well, yet it wasn't something she actively sought, unless…

"A golden vessel," the boy answered cryptically, as a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "And perhaps…a boon."

"A boon…" Rin repeated, her eyes widening as she took in what he said. "You mean…a wish?"

"Something like that," Shinji answered, with a soft chuckle. "Though not from some omnipotent vessel. From my patron."

"Your patron?" Rin echoed. She'd _suspected_ there had been someone who had enabled his rise to prominence, but for the boy to simply admit it was…unexpected. As was the gentle smile on his face and the warmth in his voice – neither of which were meant for _her._ "

"Yes," the boy acknowledged. "It is at her bidding that I am to take part in this whole affair. My patron is…curious about the limits of my capabilities, among other things."

"I…see," the Tohsaka heiress said, her lips curving into a slight frown as _leaned forward, cupping her chin in a hand._ "But why...would your patron be interested in potions, Matou? I suppose they are a staple of Witchcraft, but the only people in the Association who would really have a use for them are…"

Rin trailed off, with Shinji raising an expectant eyebrow.

"…alchemists," Tohsaka finished, as realization dawned. "Are you…are you hoping to become a researcher at Atlas, once you tire of being a knight?" she mused, her eyes widening as she looks Shinji up and down. "I do hear that Atlas isn't picky about the skill level or background, so they'd even take practitioners of witchcraft, wouldn't they…?"

"They would," Shinji acknowledged. "But it's not my goal just to be a researcher, and getting to a high rank in Atlas, or any other organization, is a different story."

"Easier if you have a patron."

"Indeed," Shinji noted, turning back to his food. "Ah, don't let it cool too much – the food's better while its hot."

"…who is she?" Rin asked flatly, eyes narrowing as she looked at Shinji.

"She?" Shinji echoed.

"Your patron," Tohsaka clarified, crossing her arms. "Who is she?"

Shinji was silent for a moment as he looked at Rin, his expression utterly flat as he studied her.

"…what makes you so sure my patron is a ' _she_ '?" the boy returned after a long moment.

"I'm not blind, Matou," Rin harrumphed. "So tell me already."

There was another long pause, as Shinji studied her once more, before shaking his head.

"You know, Tohsaka, I don't think that's any of your business," the practitioner of witchcraft said quietly, in a tone that warned he would not tolerate any further inquiries into the matter. "Not when I'm effectively _yours_ as it is."

"That's…" the Tohsaka heiress swallowed, realizing once more how much she owed Matou, and how quickly much of that could disappear if he was to become…displeased with her. "You're right, Matou," she muttered, shaking her head. Surely there was something she could ask about without causing offense, maybe something that would play to his ego…ah. "There's something else, actually."

"Mm?"

"Your former Master, Aozaki Touko," Rin began, glancing a bit awkwardly over at where Mashu was sitting by the door, then back to Shinji. "She said…she said that…" The girl braced herself for whatever he might say in response to her next words. "She said that I'm not as strong as you."

"And?"

Briefly, the Tohsaka heiress brought up the master puppeteer's rather sadistic training regimen, and how she hadn't managed to win against Aozaki-san's puppets in even a single encounter. Time after time, her new Master had criticized her performance, listing the many ways in which she was lacking in comparison to the puppeteer's former apprentice.

"I've tried everything I can think of," Rin muttered, looking down at her lap. "But I can't win. Reinforcement doesn't work. Gandr doesn't work. Martial arts doesn't. Nothing works. Master has…she said I'm missing something, but _what?_ What is it I need?" The girl swallowed. "How do I become strong...like you?"

"Huh," Shinji noted, taking a moment to absorb what Tohsaka had told him. That Aozaki Touko had praised him was…something of a surprised, given how critical she usually was of him, but he took a quiet pride in it, nonetheless. "You want to become strong, Tohsaka?"

"…yes," Rin whispered, her arms going to her sides as her hands balled into fists. "I'll do anything," she continued, her face flushing for some odd reason as her heart began to hammer wildly in her chest. "Whatever you tell me, Matou."

"Well…have you tried learning something to cover your weaknesses?" Shinji offered. "Think about the area in which you are weakest. What seems to be the reason you lose?"

"…I'm not powerful enough," Tohsaka said after a moment, though she shook her head. "But that's not very helpful. I can't just make my spells more powerful or hit much harder than I already _am_. I've tried. Her automatons resist my magecraft."

"Well, the ones she used against me weren't particularly resistant to elemental abilities," Shinji offered, recalling how his master would often test his mettle with such things as a way to help him improve his elemental abilities. "You're a good magus, Tohsaka, shouldn't you be able to use those?"

Rin blushed at the praise.

"Well, yes, but…." Frankly, she hadn't thought about using those because it would mean using up some of her gems, and she'd always thought of those as an absolute last resort. She had so few which were actually empowered to a high level that ordinarily, she wouldn't even think about bringing them out in something that wasn't an emergency – and training did not count, as such no matter how serious.

"If you've been holding back against Master, I suggest you stop," Shinji replied gravely. "Master – when she was my Master – hated it if I didn't use everything I had to win, because it meant I didn't value her time and attention."

"But…"

For a wild moment, Rin considered telling Matou about the limitations of her magecraft, but that whim died as quickly as it had come.

"There's no _buts_ here," Shinji commented. "It might be difficult, but you have to learn what you're capable of when you let loose, so you can learn to fight well even at the limits of your abilities. Being stubborn about holding back won't help – it will just make her work harder to beat taking her seriously into you."

"…you might have a point," Rin conceded. She'd tried everything else, to date, so she supposed it wouldn't hurt to do something new.

"I know I do," Shinji quipped with a wry smile. "After all, I was Master's apprentice for two years, until I asked her to teach you instead."

That was something Rin had no good answer to, no answer except…

"…why?" she all but demanded after some seconds had passed.

"Why what, Tohsaka?" Shinji asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"Don't get the wrong idea, Matou," Rin noted quietly. "I'm…grateful that you gave up his Master for my sake, and for everything, but…why?"

"Why what?" Shinji repeated patiently.

" _You know what_!" Rin all but snapped, troubled at his lack of guile. "Why did you do it? Why did you give up a chance to learn from one of the greatest magi of the present age – one who had already chosen you as her apprentice?!"

After all, no one who called him or herself a magus would ever be so...nice, so self-sacrificing, without expecting something in return.

' _My body, perhaps? But he turned me down then, and with Mashu here, I don't think he'll ask for it now.'_

Perhaps her loyalty then, meaning that he indirectly received the benefits of Aozaki Touko's teachings, due to what she owed him.

Perhaps her hand in marriage, given that none of the things he had done - giving her vast treasures, buying a house for her use, giving up his Master for her sake, helping her so directly - were generally things colleagues or friends did for another, but…family might. Was he saying then that he wanted them to become family? That he wished…to marry her?

If that was so, she would be happy to accept, yet…

"Who am I to you, that you would do these things for me and ask nothing in return?!" she demanded at last, rising to her feet with wild eyes as she stared at the boy before her.

"Tohsaka…you…" Shinji began, wide-eyes, before shaking himself and taking a visible breath. After that, he too rose, reaching out to take the tormented girl's hands, as the heiress swallowed. "Early in my life, Tohsaka Rin was an inspiration to me. She was my idol, for better or worse, and at the beginning of my journey, I did want to impress her."

"And then…?" Rin breathed, shivering as his skin touched hers, looking up into his stormy eyes and the intensity she saw there.

"And then I came to know her as more than an idol," Shinji said warmly. "I came to see her as a person, to learn how hard Tohsaka Rin worked, how much was expected of her, how little others appreciated her. And I just…"

"…you just…"

Tohsaka could feel her heart hammering in her chest once more, could feel her cheeks blushing tomato red, and knew there wasn't a thing she could do about it, enthralled as she was by him.

"…I just wanted to make you happy," the boy stated, with a sincerity that shook her to the core. "Because you, Tohsaka Rin, aren't just a magus. You're not perfect. You're not someone who doesn't need anything, and doesn't want anything. And you don't have to be."

"I…don't."

"No, you don't. Because the Tohsaka Rin who is my friend, my comrade, my companion _isn't_ perfect. That Tohsaka is a girl who followed me to a distant land, without perhaps being ready. Who has fears and insecurities. Who misses people and is lonely sometimes. Who wishes someone would just _look_ at her and acknowledge her as someone worthy."

"And…" Rin swallowed. "Do you…?

"I do. You deserve so much more than life has given you," Shinji whispered, as he looked deeply into her eyes. "Than the loneliness, the fear, the hurt. You, Tohsaka, deserve something better – and so I offer you what little I have, what little I can." _'…because that's what someone did for me once, when I was alone._ '

"Then…" Tohsaka Rin trembled, as no one had ever – ever – said anything like this to her before. No one had ever looked at her so intensely, so as to make her knees weak. No one had just taken her hand so gently yet forcefully. No one had just offered everything Matou Shinji did, without asking anything in return.

It was so…

…so…

… _foreign._

 _So_ alien _to her way of thinking that it shook her worldview to its very foundations._

People just _didn't_ do that sort of thing. Not unless they wanted something.

"So is there anything at all that I can do to repay you, Matou?" Rin heard a voice asking, realizing after a moment of confusion that it was _her_ voice. "Anything at all? I'll do anything in my power, give you whatever it is you wish. Even..." She blushed prettily as her voice grew quiet. "...me."

Shinji's eyes glanced over her figure, accentuated as it was by her sweater, and her mouth grew dry at the thought of what he might say now, now that she'd offered him anything at all. Would he…? With Mashu…watching? Was he going to…?

She could do naught but watch as the boy released one of her hands, taking advantage of the now free limb to step around the table and move to her side, where for the first time in many, many years, someone hugged her.

"None of that. Not because it owed. Not because I demand it," Shinji murmured into the Tohsaka heiress' ear, as her breath caught. "Whatever we are – as friends, comrades, and more, I think we're beyond things like debts and costs and favors, don't you?"

"Yes," Rin whispered against Shinji's skin. "That is, that would be…"

"So since there is no debt, all I ask, if you wish – and only if you wish – is that you look out for me as I have looked out for you, now, and in the years to come."

"Yes," the Tohsaka heiress answered, her thoughts somewhere else entirely at the thought that someone _did_ care about her. That even though she'd offered herself unconditionally, he'd still taken the time to ask her if she was ok with what little he wanted – something she would have done anyway. He didn't have to ask. The fact that he did was… "I will, Ma…" she added. "Shinji."

Rin didn't remember too much of what happened next, as everything between that embrace and Mashu escorting her to a car to take her back to the Department of Archaeology, along with…Shinji giving her a set of Japanese sweets, knowing she must have been homesick.

' _Of anything he could have given me, this…'_

Well, it wasn't as if it was a dress, or a ring, but clearly she didn't need such things to be beautiful. Not in _his_ eyes.

' _I see now. He didn't take me that night, not because Mashu was there, or because of anything else. But because it wouldn't have been right for either of us. Not because he didn't care, but because he cares more than anyone in my life has since mother died.'_

She felt…special, thinking about what he'd done for her. He was dangerous, yes. Had secrets, yes. Someone cunning and powerful and more, but…from her, he _demanded_ nothing. And that was why she would follow him for as long as he wished, for as long as the road let them walk together.

* * *

Back in the dining room, Mashu and Shinji were sitting down for something of a debriefing, with the agent of Atlas voicing her concerns plainly.

"Sempai, do you go out of your way to try and charm every girl you come across?" the blonde asked with a moue of disapproval. "Or is it something that just happens?"

Shinji, for his part, just groaned, his shoulders slumping.

"…at least Tohsaka is…at least she feels better now?" he offered, still surprised about how his childhood friend had all but thrown herself at him again.

"Sempai, I realize you're a kind person, but I don't think you realize the significance of your words," Mashu noted reproachfully. "Unless you really…" She shook her head. "This might not be my place, but were you trying to propose to Miss Tohsaka?"

"No!" Shinji was on his feet before he realized it. Taking a deep breath, he sat down, flushing at how he'd reacted. "I wouldn't…I wouldn't try to take advantage of her like that. And…"

"It would sound like it to a magus," Mashu explained softly. "Especially one who has so few friends. She offered any single thing within her power – you said that there was no need for one thing, but for her to look out for you, now and in the future. That is the language of a binding alliance, Sempai. And to hug a girl while saying it…"

"…I messed up, didn't I?"

"Don't feel so bad, Sempai. This way, Miss Tohsaka feels more comfortable about what you've done for her, and an alliance is something useful in your position," Mashu offered, with a shy smile. "Especially with the coming Grail War."

"…a war she doesn't know anything about, Mashu."

"No, but at least she'll have an ally, won't she, Sempai?"

"Well…that's true enough," Shinji admitted. "I hope you don't think badly of me for how this turned out?"

"Our mutual benefactor will no doubt be happy to have another useful asset," Mashu noted simply. "A member of the Three Founding Families, even."

Shinji couldn't quite help but notice that the Agent of Atlas had avoided answering his question, and so…

"But what do _you_ think, Mashu?" he insisted, as the strawberry blonde shook her head.

"Sempai, it really isn't a good idea to play with people's hearts, even if that's not what you mean to do," the other told him. "Someone will eventually get hurt, and that someone might or might not be you."

The boy let out a long, shuddering sigh.

"…I know. I just…."

"You're young, Sempai. You have a lot to learn, but I'll be there to help."

"Thank you, Mashu. That...I appreciate it."


	39. The First Task

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 39.** _The First Task_

Fleur Delacour clutched her wand tightly in her hand as she stood on a platform of ice inscribed with a circle of runes, looking out upon the black water of the frigid lake in which she knew a Selma lurked, an immense Norwegian sea serpent whose size was said to be exceeded only by its hunger for living flesh. Had she not seen the creature for herself, witnessed its monstrous jaws dragging the body of a fully grown troll into the water with no difficulty at all, perhaps she wouldn't have been worried, but the part-Veela had, and so she did.

' _Zut alors! And we 'ave to go into the water vith it? Armed with only our wands?'_

True, neither she nor the other Champions were expected to actually _fight_ the Selma, but the thought of being in the same body of water with the territorial, hungry reptile was not quite appealing.

Especially as the water was cold as ice, and with the lack of light from above due to the polar night, it would be almost completely dark once she dived down past the first few meters of the freezing water, trusting in her magic to keep her warm, light her way, hide her from the Selma – oh, and help her breathe.

The thin, figure-flattering swimsuit she was permitted would hardly be of any help there, just as it was no help in warding off the chill of the arctic air.

Fleur Delacour shook her head and took a deep breath, seeking to banish the whispers of uncertainty and doubt in her mind before they could take hold, to center herself on what lay ahead – on what must be done. As a part-Veela, a creature of fire and air, her magic was and had always been a tad more volatile than that of her wholly human peers. True, her heritage granted her some fairly unique abilities, allowing her to wield fairly potent spells of fire instinctually, with her flames growing hotter and hungrier as her temper mounted, as well as the ability to charm and mesmerize with her voice, but it wasn't as if either of those would be particularly useful here.

Fire spells – except perhaps Fiendfyre, which she did not know and had no intention of using – did not exactly work well underwater, and her charm ability didn't work on things already attacking her – as the Selma would be if she drew its attention.

For the purpose of this task, it was best to remain unnoticed and unseen – two things that Fleur Delacour had never been particularly good at, given her Veela aura tended to complicate matters, whether she wished it or not.

But the girl shook her head, taking a deep breath.

She was a Champion, chosen by the Goblet of Fire, and bound by magical contract to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. She was the Etoile of Beauxbatons, standing head and shoulders above all of her peers, save the Etoile Noire. She was part-Veela, with the rich heritage of her ancestry running through her veins, and she would show those watching – all those who had besmirched her name, who accused her of using her charms for advantage and pleasure – that she needed no such tricks to stand equal to her fellow Champions.

 _Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._

' _I can do zis,'_ she told herself as she stilled herself, focusing on the task to come as she waited for the signal _. 'Zey will see…zey will all see!'_

* * *

Standing on a second platform a third of the way around the lake, George Weasley was almost…amused by the spectacle unfolding around him. The chill of the arctic air bit deep, with his skintight swim briefs – all that had been permitted to him for the competition – hardly sufficient appropriate garb for the…was it morning, evening, night? – it all looked the same after a while – for keeping him warm.

Still, the Champion of Hogwarts put the cold out of mind as he touched his disillusioned ring of power, knowing that soon enough, he would be able to dispense with caring about bothersome things like regulating his body temperature and needing to breathe.

Instead, he watched everything – and everyone – else around him with his golden eyes, noting how Fleur Delacour – who filled out her dark swimsuit quite well! – had her long, silvery blonde hair bound in a rather sensible ponytail and was focusing only on the water, how Viktor Krum, standing on a third platform, seemed impatient for the competition to begin, the micro-expressions that flitted across his face and subtle hints in body language betraying the Durmstrang Champion's nervousness, and of course, and how the distant audience, granted a spectacular view of the goings-ons below courtesy of the brooms they rode – brooms so numerous they almost blotted out the sky, were looking anywhere _but_ at the champions.

Not that he could blame them.

Were he up there, and not down here, tasked with slipping into the dark waters, diving to the bottom of the lake, and retrieving one of the three golden orbs there – all the while avoiding the Selma, dealing with any treachery from his fellow Champions, and keeping himself from freezing to death or drowning, he would be doing the same, as all around the lake were spectacles for the eye, the ear, and more.

On the lake shore, at three points corresponding to each of the Champions' platforms, security trolls could be seen, decked in the colors of one of the Banners of Durmstrang, the ends of their clubs drumming a fierce beat on the rocky ground as one.

Behind the trolls, of course, was a portion of the Host of Durmstrang, with students from the rank and file of Wolf, Serpent, and Raven arranged in six-man deep formations, uniforms of red, green and gold catching what little light was present as they spun and twirled metal-capped staves of ebony, slamming the tips into the ground to produce a different percussive rhythm, the interplay weaving a rich cross-rhythmic tapestry of sound.

And in the air, hovering high above the very center of the lake, was a single figure garbed in black and gold, hair shining like spun fire in the light of the aurorae, holding a baton – no, a fife – in her hands. This was Rachelle Sondrol, Lieutenant of the Banner of Ravens, Potions Champion of Durmstrang, and Marshal of the Host, as the Council had appointed her.

As the percussive rhythms wafted up to her, Rachelle lifted the fife to her lips and began to play, with the shrill, piercing melody of the instrument – amplified by magic – audible to all who watched.

In this way, Durmstrang perhaps borrowed from old European traditions, given that the infantry of the Continent had once used fifes and drums to issue signals and marching orders that could be heard above the din of battle, whether roars of muskets, artillery fire, or enraged men. Indeed, each company in a regiment had fifers and drummers, which, when brought together with the musicians of others for mass movement or parades formed the first true bands.

At the school of magic in the frozen north, however, music was not just a means of commanding, but a way of working magic in and of itself, and as the melody took form, so too did delicate lines of silver light as a great magic circle shimmered into being surrounding the lake.

' _Fascinating…'_ George thought to himself, raising an eyebrow as the musicians' intent was made manifest in the world. ' _I was not aware such arts were possible…'_

The youth shook his head, reminding himself that he should not be surprised by such things, given that his trump card was a working of old Russian craft. As he was coming to understand, each school – each region of the world – had its own techniques, its own secret lore, which it was loathe to teach to outsiders.

' _The_ ofuda _skills of Japan_ _are one_. _The wandless craft of Africa another. The Dark Arts of Durmstrang a third. And those are but a few…'_

Yes, the European schools shared a common foundation in terms of charms, transfiguration, and other basic abilities they taught, but when it came to the more esoteric branches of the Craft they specialized in, each differed quite a bit from the others, depending on the needs of their students and the institution as a whole.

' _Hogwarts was simply meant to be a school, where we could live out our childhoods without worrying about the greater mysteries of the world around us. Durmstrang is a far more martial place, where each student is trained to face the world around them with whatever tools they can, a school where pragmatism and survival in these northern wastes is the goal. Beauxbatons is a school that emphasizes charm and political skill, focusing on influence, charm, and the indirect over the direct.'_

Without having been to _Mahoutokoro_ and gaining a sense for how different traditions could be in different lands, it was possible that he would have dismissed Durmstrang as a den of the Dark Arts, with its headmaster – a former Death Eater – subjecting its guests and students to conditions unfit for even a house elf to slake his sadistic whims. Many of his peers did, after all, seeing only malice and insult when there was none there, when it was they themselves who had come with closed minds and closed hearts, unable to accept that other ways of doing and being might be just as valid as theirs – or more valid – for a given context.

In the context of Durmstang, that context was standing together – working together – in service to a higher goal, with each person surrendering some of their autonomy to play their part, ensuring the survival of the whole in a particularly hostile environment.

' _Whereas in Britain, there has never quite been such a need.'_

In a place where life was relatively easy, a place that had been spared most of the conflict of the Continent, it was easy to see no need for tools of war, to look down on those who practiced the Dark Arts and other such techniques as barbaric, monstrous, _evil_ , often enough creating monsters where none had existed.

Monsters like Lord Voldemort.

He'd learned from Tomas Peverell that as a boy, the Dark Lord had simply been an orphan that other children had made fun of and mocked relentlessly, a child who felt persecuted by the world, and who had, upon coming into his powers, had naturally enough used them to silence those who hurt him by hurting them in return. There was nothing monstrous in that, given the things children did to one another, though knowing what he did of the world and how unexplainable his abilities were, the young orphan had been afraid that he would be thought of as insane and taken away to an asylum. But that had changed when the young orphan met Albus Dumbledore, with the man judging these actions as those of a law-breaker who abused his magic, perhaps seeing an echo of Grindelwald where none had existed, thus reinforcing, in the young boy, the notion that Might made Right.

That people – even adults – didn't want to understand. That the world would never understand, and would persist in its persecution of those who were victims, unless one grew powerful enough to turn the tables.

George had kept that cautionary tale well in mind as he continually tested the limits of his powers, seeking new challenges, new opportunities to become stronger. It was a pity Matou did not have a way for him to reach _Mahoutokoro_ , but sparring with Parkinson had been… _enlightening._

Given his satori-bond and his ability to shift into spirit form, George was theoretically superior to Pansy in combat, as he could read her mind, while she couldn't even sense him, could move more quickly than her, and could bring far more magical might to bear than she. As such, he hadn't expected too much of a challenge, given that unlike Matou, she wasn't specialized against things of spirit.

...but time and again, Pansy had surprised him.

While Parkinson couldn't sense him in spirit form, the girl was apparently a trained Occlumens, whose mind showed George only what she wanted him to see, maneuvering him into a position favorable to her and capitalizing on that by conjuring platforms of runes beneath her feet to let her change direction and speed at will – once even launching herself into the air to strike at him

And then, of course, there was the twin dagger-wand style she used, one which focused on speed, coupled with single, devastating strikes, taking advantage both of the fact that she had two wands, and that her wands were brothers, with a resonance effect that increased their power tenfold when used together against a common enemy.

Such skills, not being part of the British canon, could only have one source: Gilderoy Lockhart, a man of which much was known – given that he was, after all, the greatest adventurer Britain had ever produced, with the accounts of his adventures being bestsellers, and yet very little, as there was very little of substance anyone knew about him as an individual, save for useless tidbits like his favorite color, his birthday, and that his deepest wish was to bring about peace in all things.

' _A bit at odds with his skill in battle, isn't it?'_ George wondered, thinking that when this was all over, it might be a good idea to sit down and have a talk with Lockhart. In a matter of months, the _History Professor_ had made Parkinson into a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, and that power – that increase in his capacity – was something the Weasley twin longed for.

But that was something for later, with George raising a thin eyebrow as the music played on, and the runic circles inscribed upon on the platforms on which the champions stood _reacted_ , with a receptacle of sorts rising from the center of each, the right size and shape to fit a sphere twice the size of his fist.

' _That's the signal…'_ the Champion of Hogwarts thought to himself, and with nary a splash, eased himself off of the platform into the waters below, his form fading quickly from sight altogether.

* * *

As the others slid into the water, with Viktor Krum transfiguring himself into some sort of shark and George Weasley seemingly not using any sort of magic at all as he dove down and disappeared, Fleur Delacour _breathed_ , focusing on her instinctive affinity to fire and _willing_ her core temperature to remain stable as long as she had the magic to keep herself warm. It was perhaps more taxing than a proper spell might have been, but it worked – and for the purposes of this challenge, it was better to stick to what she knew, as opposed to trying a new trick which might be her undoing.

That was why she was using a combination of her instinctual magic and a Bubble-head Charm, since both were at least reliable – even if the bitter c _old_ she felt as she entered the water herself almost made her curse.

' _Five metres.'_

That was the safe zone beyond which the Selma could not pass, a boundary enforced by the music and the runic inscriptions around the lake shore and on the platforms. Once she passed that, the risk of death was all too real…

' _Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.'_

But Fleur shook her head.

She didn't have time for this – she was a Champion, sworn to do a Champion's duty, and so she would make it down to the bottom and retrieve one of the three golden orbs that were the objective of this phase of the Tournament. Hopefully, by waiting, the Selma's attention had been drawn by one of her competitors, meaning that if she moved swiftly and surely, she could seize her prize and return to the surface without facing it at all.

With that in mind, the part-Veela turned in the water, away from the faint light of the surface, and began propelling herself downwards.

* * *

To the astralized form of George Weasley, floating just above the lake floor, the underwater world at the bottom of the lake was a very strange place indeed. It was a place of utter silence, with the music from above absorbed by the dozens of meters of water that lay between himself and the surface, and a place of utter darkness, with no sign of life whatsoever.

Of course, with his _satori-_ enhanced vision, things looked rather different, as the world seemed considerably brighter. He couldn't see the Selma, of course, but he _could_ see at least one of the orbs near him, the magic of its enchantments glowing like a beacon in his sight.

' _Spirit form is quite an advantage…'_ he thought to himself, the ghost of a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. _'I have managed to bypass the challenges of this place, and can now escape with the orb in tow.'_

He couldn't pick it up, of course, since interacting with a physical object like that wasn't exactly feasible in spirit form, and if he returned to his human form without having cast a bubble-head charm or a transfiguration, there was a very real chance the pressure and cold of the water would lead to his doom.

Instead, George cast a seize and pull charm, a magical rope shooting from him to the surface of the orb – only to dissipate on contact, with the orb emitting a shriek of something like pain.

 _What?_

But there was no time left to wonder, as the massive form of the Selma rushed towards him, its speed leaving no chance for him to escape before its monstrous jaws swallowed him whole.

…or at least, that would have been the outcome had he been flesh and blood. Instead, the Selma was now twisting and turning in confusion, its eyes flashing with rage at its prey having somehow escaped its grasp.

'… _you know, they could have told us that using magic on the orb would draw the Selma. It's like they want us to die…'_

As he thought of that, there was a scream in the distance, a terrible keening that set every one of his nerves on edge, with the Selma, enraged by the noise, disappearing into the distance with powerful undulations of sinew and scales.

' _So someone else reached an orb.'_

And with them being flesh and blood, that meant that unless he drew the Selma's attention, the other would likely die.

* * *

Fleur Delacour had been a bit unnerved to hear the silence of the depths rent by two terrible screams, neither of which had sounded human. So far, she had seen neither hide nor hair of her competitors as she slowly descended, taking her time so she wouldn't seem like some out of control prey to the hungry beast which haunted these waters.

There were no fish here. No plants. No life for the Selma to prey on.

' _It vas brought in from the mainland…'_

And without any fish to sate its appetite in this small, ice-dammed body of water, no doubt the creature was ravenous for human flesh – the other of the two things it typically ate

True, it had probably eaten the corpse of the troll she and Matou had killed, but surely such a thing wasn't enough for a thirty-meter long sea serpent…

Fleur froze as a great _roar_ of pain and rage, echoed in the silence, followed by a third of the screams from the direction of the first.

' _What…what is happening down there?'_

Did she dare risk a light in the darkness?

The part-Veela decided that she did indeed, as the tip of her wand began to glow, the seeming brilliance of it almost blinding after so long in the dark.

For several long, very uncomfortable seconds, Fleur thought she'd made a mistake, as she was all but helpless as her eyes adjusted to the illumination – and then, as a wave of pressure slammed into her, spinning her round and round and round, her wand slipped from her grasp altogether.

Not entirely thinking, she made to swim for it, as without her wand, she had no means of defending herself – or refreshing her Bubble-Head charm if necessary – only to freeze as she saw the length of rosewood being pulled away by turbulence eddies in the wake of something _enormous._

The Selma.

The one thing she'd hoped to avoid seeing.

' _Merde!'_

* * *

George Weasley cursed as the great serpent rushed back towards his position, with a crazed, frenzied light in its eyes that the young wizard found rather disconcerting. When he'd last encountered it, the creature had been enraged by the wailing of the orb he had tried to retrieve, but now there was something else, something like desperation or…

'… _madness?'_

As the gargantuan beast swam by, passing back and forth in an attempt to find the creature that summoned it, the incorporeal form of the Hogwarts Champion matched its speed, seeking to understand a mind that was both simpler and more disjointed than his own. There was little in the way of coherent thought, just snatches of raw emotion and sensation – of pain, of hunger, of confinement, of searing heat and slippery prey.

' _You're far from home…'_ George thought, blinking away a sudden stab of pity for what others would no doubt call monster. _'You didn't ask to be here. To be taken from the lake in which you slumbered to be ill-used for wizard sport.'_

To be starved of prey, kept hungry, kept _dangerous_ , becoming the first obstacle for a witch or wizard who foolishly sought eternal glory.

' _There is no glory in this for anyone…'_ the satori-user mused, deciding that perhaps he could help soothe the beast, if he drew on the fullness of his power, reaching out towards the jagged tangles of its alien mind and reshaping the world it saw, it heard, it _sensed._

 _ **Fear.**_

There was so much of it. Fear of starvation. Fear of pain. Fear of death. Fear of the terrible sound with which its captors had tormented it, a sound like that of all-devourers of the ancient deep, terrible, indescribable things of luminous eyes, protoplasmic bubbles and oozing pustules glowing green.

 _ **Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!**_

And just moments before, the world had shrunken even more, collapsing down to this little bit of water in which the creature thrashed about. There was no more surface. No more hope of prey. No more air. No escape from the shrieking cries of the terrible ones its race so feared.

' _No wonder it is frenzied. It thinks it's going to die down here, hungry and alone, eaten by all-devourers that scour lake bottoms, basins, oceans free of life.'_

Touched by its plight, George showed the Selma something else, wove for it the pattern of a world where the terrible sound did not exist, could not exist, where it was free once more, without constraint or fear.

Where it could be at peace.

The creature's movements slowed then, growing less agitated, less frenzied, turning about as a glowing wand drifted into – and then out of – its view, with the terrified form of Fleur Delacour freezing some distance above it, hoping the Selma hadn't noticed her.

George shook his head, knowing she could not see him at all, and in spirit form simply drifted over to her till his form was superimposed with hers, whereupon he summoned the length of rosewood into the part-Veela's hand.

* * *

' _Comment…?'_

Fleur could feel her heart pounded away in her chest as her wand simply returned to her hand – _without her having cast a single spell._ It could have been the current. Maybe. But there wasn't a current, except for what the Selma, now considerably less agitated than it had been, stirred up with its movements as it swam away from her.

' _Non. Zere is no time.'_

She wouldn't ask questions. Not now, not when she was almost at the lake floor, with several powerful strokes bringing her into view of a golden orb.

' _Zis is it…'_

Yet, she couldn't simply summon it. Nor could she reach out and touch it. Not when the orbs were probably the source of the sound which had so infuriated the Selma. There had to have been someone here, earlier – what had happened to him? Had whoever it was gotten away? Had he been eaten? It was impossible to tell.

'' _Ow do I bring zis to ze surface?'_

If she failed here…

No…she wouldn't fail. She couldn't. She was a Champion of Beauxbatons, and was capable of so much more than this. She would not dishonor her people, or give cause to those who thought half-breeds were weak and incapable…

Perhaps…

' _Non…I don't think…'_

Perhaps…a Patronus?

The part-Veela blinked, not at all certain what had possessed her to even consider casting such a spell, given how difficult it was, but she supposed it couldn't hurt to try. The Patronus was, after all, supposed to be a wizard or witch's spirit guardian – the manifestation of all that was good, though few were capable of casting such a thing.

How could she…?

Fleur Delacour _breathed,_ stilling her inner doubts. This was her one chance to win – her one chance to attain victory in this task, and it would not slip her by. She reached deep inside her for a single, happy memory – a memory of the first time she'd seen her younger sister Gabrielle, and how powerfully protective she had felt. How happy she had been to be an older sister – to have someone else she could share things with – to not be so very lonely.

The warmth of it surged through her, flowed through her, filled her to bursting, and when she spoke the words…

" _ **Expecto Patronum**_ _."_

…a dazzling animal wrought of silver light burst from the end of her wand: a horse – or something like a horse, at least – a ghostly, translucent equine with a gaunt, skeletal frame, a head like that of a dragon, and wide, leathery wings like that of a giant bat.

' _Thestral…'_

It was impossible. Absurd. Yet the sight of the thestral – _her Patronus_ – hanging in the water before her, waiting patiently for her command, was no illusion.

"Bring ze orb to ze surface," Fleur commanded, willing the guardian spirit to take the golden sphere. The Patronus proceeded to do so, capturing the golden orb in its mouth, before ascending with reckless speed, unhindered by the concerns of mere flesh.

The orb shrieked for a few excruciatingly long moments, with Fleur certain the Selma would come rushing towards it – and her – but it soon fell silent as the winged reptilian horse burst through the safe zone at 5 meters and through to the surface, where, to the gathered crowd's shock and disbelief, it alighted on one of the icy platforms, where it set its burden into the waiting receptacle.

* * *

George Weasley watched as Fleur, a soft smile on her face at enormity of what she had accomplished, made for the surface, where she would no doubt be hailed for her two great achievements, with the completion of the first task a minor thing compared to summoning a Patronus.

' _Curious. So Delacour is capable of more than she seems,'_ he mused silently. _'I suppose Matou always did have an eye for talent as well as beauty.'_

Of course, she was not an Occlumens. It would have been difficult to… _influence_ her in the way that he had if she was, even if he had merely helped her to focus on what was necessary – and perhaps had planted the idea of using the Patronus in her mind.

Not that the origin of the idea mattered, really, so much as what had been done with it.

In the utter darkness, the youth's lips curled into a silent smile as he set about finding another of the orbs. This took some time, as he didn't want to head to where he supposed Krum had found the second, and his enhanced vision could only see so far, but eventually he chanced upon the third – and last – of the treasures.

' _I'm reasonably sure I can't do something more impressive than what Delacour has managed in terms of magical skill, so I won't_. _In fact, there's no need for me to even use magic to lift the orb for me. Or to bother picking it up…_ '

Instead, the boy simply used the gouging spell to remove the soil from around the orb, before transfiguring the water around the item into a great spheroid of ice about a meter in diameter, which slowly at first, then with increasing speed, began to rise.

It was a simple solution, all in all.

Certainly, he couldn't use magic to move the orb directly, but that didn't mean he couldn't use it to alter what was around the orb. And since water had the virtue of being one of the few substances that was less dense in solid form than in liquid, George Weasley had decided that he might as well give Muggle science a chance to shine.

He followed into the ice sphere's wake, materializing himself just outside the safe zone, and reaching the surface with ease, shivering as in his physical state, he finally felt the full impact of the cold. The eyes of the onlookers above were fixed on him as he pulled the sphere over to the platform he had dived from so long ago and sliced it open, retrieving the gleaming orb within and slotting it into the waiting receptacle, where it – and the two others that had been retrieved – began to hum, adding their melody to the musical magic that had hidden the surface from the Selma's sight.

George looked around as the music rose, and lines and whorls of light shimmered into existence at the Marshal's direction.

Fleur was wrapped in furs, sitting in front of a shelter that had been erected a small way away from the lakeshore and watching him curiously.

Krum was…well, the Durmstrang Champion was a bloody mess, his body pale and bleeding, with ugly, jagged marks across the length of his torso from where teeth the size of kitchen knives had ripped through him, and his left arm a mangled mess of bone and blood.

'… _that's right…he drew the Selma's attention. Probably hurt it with some boiling water spell too…'_

From the look of it, though, the Bulgarian had come out rather the worse for wear, though given that he could see three orbs glowing with light, George could only assume Krum had somehow succeeded in retrieving his treasure, which said something about the man's sheer determination to succeed.

' _If nothing else,_ that _is worthy of respect,'_ the Weasley Twin mused, as a boat came to offer him passage back to shore. _'We survived. We did what we set out to do. What else matters?'_


	40. Sanguine Relations

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 40.** _Sanguine Relations_

All in all, George Weasley mused, being Hogwarts' Champion in the TriWizard Tournament hadn't exactly been what he'd expected. Certainly it had been as bloody and violent as he'd anticipated, but for all the talk of eternal glory and honor in triumph, there had been a decided lack of celebration after the First Task had been completed. There had been no Feast, no ceremony, no individual debriefing and evaluation of the particulars of their performance, simply a short meeting where the three Headmasters privately acknowledged that simply _completing_ the task was an achievement in itself, and had from there, gone on to explain the particulars of the next Task.

Indeed, the official record noted only that the three had done admirably in the First Task, with each of them managing to find a way to accomplish what they'd been asked to do and qualifying for the Second Task.

Unofficially, of course, things were rather different, with the Tournament being a rather popular subject of discussion among students in each of the three Banners, as well as among the staff. Knowing the value of staying informed about the opinions of the masses, George had made a point of visiting each of the Banners in spirit form, listening to what was being said.

What he heard rather amused him.

For example, it was thought that Fleur Delacour had outperformed the others by a fairly sizable margin, with the part-Veela having demonstrated the ability to summon a corporeal _Patronus –_ a highly advanced piece of magic that most wizards never managed. Due to this, people were re-evaluating how they thought of her, with those who had once gleefully besmirched her reputation being…rather less eager to cross her, now that her they knew what she was capable of.

' _Typical. They do not wish to offend someone who so obviously exceeds their capacity…'_

The reaction to Viktor Krum's performance and injuries, on the other hand, were rather more mixed. Outside of the Banner of Wolves, the Durmstrang Champion was considered by many to be a great disappointment, given the sorry state in which he'd finished the First Task, and how the only thing he'd demonstrated was a talent for Transfiguration, given his partial transformation into a shark. Originally, some had thought Krum was perhaps secretly a shark animagus, a talent he'd never shown off previously due to the animal form's lack of utility in most situations, as they'd seen it only from a distance, and so had been fairly impressed that the Quidditch star had managed to learn such a thing in his spare time. Those better informed, however, had quickly corrected those rumors, leaving only the fact that while he'd been the second one to retrieve his orb, he'd sustained grievous injuries beyond the ability of the infirmary to treat.

Some suggested that the severity of his injuries was a mark of his overconfidence in his abilities, and that the Bulgarian had shamed Durmstrang through his poor showing. They argued that it was only luck that he had survived the Task, and that it was obvious that for all his skill on the pitch, he wasn't exactly the most competent off it. Others, mostly from Wolf Tower, deemed those suggestions unfair and uncalled for. After all, despite his life-threatening injuries – injuries that required extensive treatment at the Lady Eir Medical Center – sustained from _fighting off_ the Selma, he'd managed to retrieve his Orb – and to do so before the Hogwarts Champion surfaced at all.

On the topic of the Hogwarts Champion, George Weasley found it amusing that his performance was thought of by the student body as middling at best, as while he'd managed to avoid being wounded, he had come up from the lake last of all, with his success being attributed to his knowledge of Muggle "tricks." The students – and staff – weren't entirely sure what to make of him, certain that he was hiding some of his abilities, but almost none of them thought that whatever he was concealing could possibly make him stronger than Miss Delacour, given her feat of conjuring a Patronus.

Under other circumstances, George might have taken issue with this assumption, but at the moment, the _satori-_ user found it one that was convenient to encourage for a multitude of reasons.

One was, of course, that Delacour's undeniable success in the First Task would help quash the rumors that had plagued the part-Veela during her time at Durmstrang, rumors which spoke of her accomplishments being owed to her charms, with her ensnaring young witches and wizards into doing her will in return for sexual favors. Some rumors spoke of her obtaining information or spells from temporary lovers, offering her body in exchange for any sort of advantage.

Had her performance been merely mediocre, relying on conventional spells and not something spectacular, these whispers would have continued to spread unabated, with her victories tainted by poisoned words from her peers, suggesting that anything she won – anything she accomplished – was solely due to her manipulation of others.

Given that the true culprit behind the licentious activities often attributed to Fleur was in fact Fred's stray _tanuki_ , George had been rather irked by these rumors, and had been glad that the part-Veela had managed a corporeal Patronus, as that was not something that could ever be the fruit of stolen knowledge or depravity.

There was a reason the charm had long been associated with those fighting for noble causes, and why Patronus wielders were so greatly respected, for it took a certain strength and nobility of character to call one forth.

' _I wasn't certain she was capable of such a thing, but I'm glad she was…'_

More pragmatically, from the records that remained from past Tournaments, George had found that more often than not, in Tournaments where all the Champions survived to the Third Task – not a guarantee by any means – Champions were often pitted against one another in a free-for-all of sorts, with fantastic beasts, mazes, or other obstacles added to make things more…exciting.

In those situations, the last one standing – or the first to reach an objective – would be crowned as the victor of the Tournament, a situation that gave him pause. For though George knew that he was likely the strongest of the three Tri-Wizard Champions, having gotten through the First Task unscathed and unchallenged, never really having been in danger at all, the _satori-_ user was quite aware that being his abilities did not make him invulnerable.

Not after his encounters with Matou, Parkinson, and Lestrange, at any rate.

Thus, George had turned his thoughts on how he might approach the Tri-Wizard Tournament as a whole to optimize his chance of victory, given the patterns of past tournaments and what he knew about his competitors. The simplest means of ensuring his victory would of course be for both of his competitors to die early in the competition, something which he could have allowed to occur as early as the First Task, with the Selma providing a readymade explanation for their fate, but the _satori_ -user had decided against that course of action as both unsporting and potentially dangerous if it was thought he might have been somehow involved.

Especially as Matou seemed to have an interest in Delacour, and given the darkness flowing all through Matou, he knew it would be quite…unwise to cross his fellow Stone Cutter without a very good reason.

' _That, and if I was going to let them die, I shouldn't have saved them in the first place.'_

He'd already been presented with the choice of whether to intervene when he'd stumbled across the duo as the Hufflepuffs sprang their trap, and in the end, he'd acted, partially because it was the right thing to do, and partially to test his capacity.

If he simply let them die now, it would be as if he was letting his work be undone, and George had a bit too much pride to allow that to transpire.

The alternative then, was to carefully manage his actions so that he would not be seen as the strongest of the Champions – and thus potentially someone who would inspire cooperation between his competitors for the sake of defeating him. Nor could he be seen as the weakest, as that would not only hurt his reputation – and the reputation of the Stone Cutters, by extension – but would mark him as an easy target for elimination through sabotage or ambush. And while George knew his mind was resilient enough to brush away a Veela's allure, and had great confidence in his martial abilities, the fact remained that if he was forced to defend himself, he would reveal more of his hand than he felt comfortable with.

At the moment, no one but Matou knew that it was he who had intervened to save Delacour and Krum from the Hufflepuffs. If anyone loyal to the British Ministry were to suspect that he'd been involved, and that to protect foreign nationals, he had killed or driven mad some of his countrymen, well, that would likely have _consequences_ , especially with the country currently under martial law.

In truth, the boy no longer held any real loyalty to the land of his birth, but the knowledge of what might happen to his friends – to Matou, a foreign national, to his brother, who would be regarded with suspicion, and to Harry, who would no doubt be tasked with taking him into custody, kept him cautious for now.

The time was coming when the _satori-_ user would have to make a choice between his past and the future he wished to see, given how the patterns of things were shaping up, but it was not yet that time. For now, he could enjoy being a Tri-Wizard Champion, learning the arts of another land, seeing the habits of its people, making connections that might benefit him when he did make his move.

Thus, while he could have leveraged his skills – especially his spirit-based abilities – to be the first to retrieve an orb, or to have done something more impressive and dramatic than simply freezing a small quantity of water, George forbore.

Happily, how things had unfolded was pretty much ideal for his purposes, given that few would take heed of the actions of a "middling" wizard. Rather, all eyes would be on Fleur and Krum, watching to see if and how the first would repeat her moment of triumph…and if and how the last would fall.

The corner of the boy's lips curled up into a thin, dangerous smile as he ghosted through the doors of his private chambers in Serpent's Refuge in spirit form, only to fade into tangibility as he made his way towards the featureless golden orb at the austere room's center.

It was silent now, having ceased its wailing for good after he'd retrieved it from the watery depths of the black lake in the First Task, but that silence was not at all comforting, given the parameters of his new task.

When the Second Task had first been explained, George Weasley had naively assumed it would be a rather easier affair than the first, given that it did _not_ involve retrieving a booby-trapped item from the territory of a murderous, half-starved Selma.

Instead, he and Delacour had each been tasked with locating the scattered fragments of a powerful magical artifact over the next month, with each person to present a reassembled artifact to the judges at the start of the Yule Ball. These fragments had been hidden throughout the Svalbard archipelago, and to have any hope of finding them whatsoever, they would need to unlock the secrets of the orbs they had retrieved.

Krum had not been present at the briefing, having been sent to the hospital following the First Task, and was not expected to return for at least a few days, if not a week, yet his deadline was the same as theirs.

' _No time to lose,'_ the Stone Cutter had thought as he returned to his room, taking the orb with him. _'I have to figure out how to unlock this.'_

And yet, despite several days of experimentation while in spirit form, something which allowed him to minimize the need for sleep, George had made no headway, which was why he'd gone to stretch his legs in an attempt to keep himself from just using a Blasting curse on the orb in frustration.

"It's not as if it will hurt to try," George noted coolly, surveying the wreckage that he hadn't yet reported. "Still..."

The boy trailed off, not quite sure what word best fit the situation.

 _Frustrating_ was one of the leading candidates, given how many things he'd tried, to no avail.

Before he'd done anything else to it, George had examined the orb using his _satori's_ abilities, attempting to glean the secrets of its, as the spells and magics woven into it would no doubt offer up some clue as to how to even begin unlocking the now-inert object.

' _I thought I could see the patterns, that I could decipher them, that I could untangle the threads and see both what kept the orb sealed and what it contains…'_

Or so he'd thought, up until the point when his spirit sight had revealed that the item was so thickly woven with interlocking enchantments that he couldn't begin to unravel one from another, forming an impenetrable sphere of brilliant light that his abilities could not penetrate.

' _Maybe I've come to rely too much on these abilities and not my own wits, since there have been few challenges what were not made trivial by them.'_

Still, the Stone Cutter had not been one of the premier pranksters of Hogwarts for nothing, so he set to work, trying to put himself into the mindset of whatever wizard had constructed this artifact.

He'd tried Alohomora, of course, as the simple Unlocking Charm had sometimes proven useful in the past when someone (even Professors, on occasion!) hadn't thought to secure a door or cupboard against it, but as expected, the orb did not react. A simple Revealing Charm had met with similar results, though he had seen no harm in trying.

' _Frankly, I would have been disappointed if it had been that easy…'_

His initial probes deflected, the Stone Cutter had moved onto using what he knew of the standard Curse-Breaker's Arsenal, a suite of spells meant to help decipher, disable and unravel the most complicated magical protections. Such spells, mostly used by those employed by Gringotts for purposes of "treasure retrieval" (or tomb-raiding / grave-robbing, as most considered it), were not commonly known to the general wizarding population, given the rather nefarious purposes to which they could be used, and even George only knew a bit from what his late brother Bill had shown him.

He'd never really had cause to use it before, given that all he knew of the Arsenal was the _first_ spell – the one meant to investigate what protections were in place, and that revealing that he knew any of it could have gotten Bill in rather a lot of trouble.

Of course, Bill was dead now, having died during the World Cup incident, with nothing left of him, not even a body, so the last was something of a moot point.

' _And I don't think he'd mind me using what he showed me for this…'_

So the boy had focused his attention on the orb and began to incant, his voice falling into a low, even cadence as he spoke. These spells weren't at all like the simple one to three word cantrips one learned in textbooks, as they were more comprehensive in purpose and scope, and acted with something of an intelligence of their own.

Slowly, the first bits of information had appeared in his mind, as if whispered into his ear.

' _Lock: Element.'_

' _Lock: Identity.'_

' _Status: Reflect.'_

' _Status: Seal.'_

The four aspects of the magic that had been invested in the orb, with the first two governing access to the last. If he had the rest of the Arsenal at his disposal, George would simply have moved onto some of the other tools involved to see what kind of identity verification was needed, and if he could bypass the security, but as it was, he had only his wits.

Thus, he'd attempted to explore what might be meant by 'Element', given that it had been the first response to be returned by the spell, and thus, the most critical part of the protections.

He'd tried submerging the orb in a bucket of water, to see if it would sing, open, or the like, but to no avail. He'd frozen the water, but the orb did not react. He'd blasted it with lightning, buried it in the ground, even cast it into the fireplace to see if any of these would reveal some sort of clue or evoke _some_ kind of reaction, but there had been nothing.

Perhaps he needed to address the matter of identity then?

Would the orb only work for someone who identified him or herself? But how would this identity be confirmed? Perhaps…some sort of password?

' _Well, it wouldn't be the first time I've had to deal with an item with a passphrase.'_

Some years before, he and Fred had puzzled out the phrase for the Marauder's Map, after all – though he conceded that the map had given him and his brother some hints by showing more and more of what it could do the closer one got to the correct passphrase.

' _Things were simpler then.'_

They hadn't needed to use put themselves into the Marauders' mindset, since they already shared it…

' _Maybe I'm over thinking this. Maybe this is simpler than I'm letting it be.'_

"Eternal Glory," the boy had intoned, thinking that the theme of the Tournament might be an appropriate password for a golden orb, but it seemed he was mistaken, as nothing happened.

"Triumph in Victory?" he'd hazarded, to no avail.

"Champion George Weasley?" George had tried, thinking it might be locked to his person's name, yet this too failed to produce any noticeable effect.

What had followed had been a series of increasingly unlikely guesses had followed, involving the names of the Headmasters, the mottos and founders of the three schools, the names and mottos of Gellert Grindelwald and Lord Voldemort, and finally, a number of creative (and anatomically improbable) curses.

After a while, he'd fallen silent, staring at the immaculate surface of the orb, taunting him with its silence.

"Open…Sesame?" he'd guessed, not really thinking it would work, and so he wasn't surprised when it didn't.

" _Mellon?_ " the Stone Cutter had said, remembering a bit of Lovegood's reading he'd overheard once. Alas, whoever crafted the orb was apparently neither a speaker of Sindarin nor a fan of J.R.R. Tolkien, so the item did not welcome him as friend.

Following that remarkable string of failures, George had decided that perhaps he needed a change of scenery, and so had gone on the walk from which he had just returned. Such things always helped him calm down, as it let him focus on the foibles of others and learn some of the spells they used in his presence by copying the movements, words, and intent behind them.

Truly Durmstrang was a wonderful place for him to learn, with a dizzying array of offensive spells ripe and free for the taking!

Having returned to his quarters with his magical arsenal greatly expanded – and having learned that the Beauxbatons Champion was likewise frustrated by the Second Task, if her cursing in French as she stared at her orb in the library was any indication, George felt considerably calmer about his progress (or lack thereof) thus far.

' _Well, I've tried exposing it to different elements. I've tried a number of passwords. Nothing I've done has worked.'_

The Stone Cutter shook his head.

"If finesse isn't the answer _…_ maybe I should try brute force?" he wondered aloud. "Even if the orb has some level of protection on it, everything has to have a weakness."

Thus, casting a Supersensory Charm on himself to augment his senses, George ran his fingers over the orb, feeling for any incongruities in the surface, any slightly recessed areas or seams he could tease open, tapping to see if any part of it might be thinner and thus more vulnerable to wand or blade, but if there were any, he couldn't feel them.

Which left only the application of force itself, really.

At first, George tried a more mundane means of opening up the orb, using the hilt of his spider-fang dagger to perform what his dad sometimes called percussive maintenance, which involved fixing items that refused to work by striking them repeatedly, but that produced no results.

Attempting to stab or cut the surface with the blade was likewise an exercise in futility, as were the use of cutting and piercing spells, both of which rebounded from the golden surface, doing some damage to the furniture around him.

' _You know…that Blasting Curse sounds quite tempting right about now…'_

There had to be an upper limit on how much force the protections of such a small object could withstand, after all, and a proper _Confringo_ _should_ be able to overcome most things, so surely there was no harm in trying.

So he cast the spell – and the world _exploded_ in a wave of force _,_ his body blown off its feet and into a wall as everything went dark _._

* * *

Seated on a couch by the fire in the rather comfortable common living area of Raven's Keep, with a heavy tome in her lap and a stack of books she'd taken from the library beside her, Fleur Delacour found herself rather amused as she saw Matou Shinji, the young Potions Champion of Hogwarts, leaving the Keep with none other than Rachelle Lestrange, the Etoile Noire of Beauxbatons.

' _And zis time, zey do not 'ave ze excuse that zey are protecting me…'_

Now that the Tournament well underway, and the Champions busy with their Second Task, assistance from an outside party would be considered cheating – and given that Champions were supposed to be able to protect themselves during their tasks, a bodyguard would certainly be counted as such.

Even if she was willing to "cheat" in that way, there was certainly no need, as the general attitude towards her had essentially taken a 180 after the First Task, with the rumors sputtering to a halt, with those who had simply seen her as someone to lust after now considering her someone worthy of respect, and those who had reviled her for her inhuman nature, accusing her of being complicit in the murders of their kin, having second thoughts, given that surely one who could conjure a Patronus was not capable of such things.

Yet, though the need was gone, Matou Shinji and Rachelle Lestrange continued to spend a great deal of time together. Thinking back, it was if something had changed between them ever since that night in the hot springs, when a curious name had come up in conversation.

The Eltnam.

The lineage of one who had apparently taught Rachelle's ancestors – and the so-called "greatest Alchemist in the World", who Matou claimed to serve.

Sion Eltnam Atlasia.

Yet…if this Sion was the greatest Alchemist yet living, why had Fleur never heard of her? Beauxbatons was famous for its potions expertise, after all, with many wishing to follow in the footsteps of Nicholas Flamel, the late Alchemical genius who had created the Philosopher's Stone. Many of its aspiring Potioneers, in fact, went on to work at the Centre of Alchemical Studies in Egypt, by far the grandest in the world – yet none of them – not even Rachelle, knew of whom Matou spoke.

' _Even if Rachelle knows of the mysterious Eltnam…'_

The British Potions Champion hadn't been lying that night – the conviction in his voice and fire in his eyes was proof enough of that, and his words seemed to have caught the attention of the notoriously cold Etoile Noire, who had never been interested in things like love.

Fleur could understand the Japanese boy's attraction to Rachelle well enough, as the combination of deadly skill and delicate beauty could be seen as attractive by some, but the Beauxbatons Potions Champion had historically had little tolerance for the bumbling affections of others, so…

Seeing her colleague tolerate his awkward (and fairly unsubtle) glances when there was no more need for her to tolerate his presence was one thing, though the part-Veela supposed that Rachelle could be entangling the boy in her web, ensuring he'd be an allying during the Potions Competition (not that such was at all her style). She supposed she could even understand if Rachelle was curious about the boy's knowledge of Alchemy and his connection to the lineage that had first taught hers.

But to hear them discussing going out at night, the various places around the school where those who sought privacy might go, and even _what they would wear to the Yule Ball_ , with the Japanese boy saying something about matching outfits, and Rachelle agreeing that it would be for the best?

Sacré bleu, that was…Fleur didn't really know what to think.

Not that she had time to think about such matters, as she had an orb that stubbornly refused to reveal its secrets to her, or reveal any hint of how to unlock its secrets, for that matter. She'd tried all sorts of spells on it, gone to the library to read about unraveling magical protections and the like, but nothing had stuck.

She'd even taken a bath with it, in the hope that submerging it would make it start to keen again, since that would give her _something_ to decipher, but there was nothing.

Twice, the part-Veela had considered just asking Rachelle to just cut the orb open with _Deuillegivre_ , as an ancient sword forged by the Founder of the Center of Alchemical Studies himself no doubt had some unique abilities, but twice she had decided against it.

After all, then it would be someone else's efforts which led to her victory, and her pride as a Champion would not allow that.

So she continued to look things up, wondering if she'd missed out on something incredibly simple, when—

"Hello, Miss Delacour, do you have a moment?" a voice interrupted her reverie, with the Beauxbatons Champion looking up from her book to see the friendly face of Pansy Parkinson.

"Oui. 'Ow can I help you?" the part-Veela asked evenly.

She didn't know much about the younger girl, save for the fact that Parkinson seemed to be on excellent terms with Matou (enough so that she had taken the boy's place as her escort in the past), that she had been part of Headmaster Flitwick's honor guard and that she was a reporter for the British newspaper.

' _She must know more about me than I of her…'_

"I was wondering if you had a moment to talk about the First Task," Pansy asked, a pleasant enough smile on her lips. "I'm writing an article about it for the _Prophet_ , and I'd like your input."

"Mine?" Fleur inquired.

"Yes, yours, Miss Delacour," Pansy confirmed with a twinkle in her eye. "You certainly put on quite the showing, after all, and I'm sure my readers will want to know more about the young woman who won the First Task."

"Mm, officially each of us did equally well," the part-Veela demurred, wondering where the young reporter was going with this.

"Yes. Officially," the brunette conceded, her smile becoming something more like a smirk now. "But how many of the others managed to conjure a Patronus? Besides which, George is something of a recluse, and Viktor is…ah, elsewhere."

Fleur tilted her head, considering the request, before closing the heavy tome in her lap with a sigh. It wasn't as if she was going to solve the mystery of the orb in the next few minutes, so she supposed she might as well.

' _It might be nice to talk things out…'_

"Very well. I don't 'ave anything better to do at the moment."

* * *

Pansy was thrilled that Fleur had agreed to talk about her experiences in the First Task, given that while she had enjoyed the audiovisual spectacle of the trolls and runes and music, everyone, other than the Champions, was in the dark about what had gone on underwater, with the official statement by the judging committee being rather empty of any details besides the fact that all three Champions had qualified for the next task.

There was no mention of Krum's hospitalization, Delacour's Patronus (a _thestral_ of all things!), George's ice trick, or even the fact that there had been a Selma, which the assassin's apprentice found rather interesting. Then again, she had known how to spin and control information for a while, even if it wasn't something she had any official training in, which she supposed was why she enjoyed filing reports for the _Daily Prophet_.

"So tell me, Miss Delacour, what it is like when you cast a Patronus?" Pansy asked, opening with what she felt to be the obvious question.

Fleur was silent for a moment, closing her eyes as her expression…softened, losing its edge. When she spoke, her voice was distant, as if she herself was somewhere far away.

"It vas…warm," the part-Veela murmured aloud.

"Warm?" Pansy echoed. "How so?"

"As if…I vas being embraced, as if I was being 'eld safely in someone's arms," Fleur replied, sighing with pleasure at the memory of it. "It was my first time feeling…"

"…your first time?" the reported noted idly, before looking up sharply. "Wait. That was your _first time_ casting a Patronus?"

"Oui."

Pansy's eyes went wide, as she barely managed to keep her mouth from falling open in shock. Understandably, it took her a few moments to compose herself enough to continue.

"How did…how did you come up with the idea of using _that_ spell, of all things?" the assassin's apprentice inquired softly. It wasn't as if it especially easy magic, after all, something one tried on a whim, yet…

"It vas…vat came to mind," Fleur answered, opening her eyes. "I don't know vy I zought of it, but at ze time, it seemed…right. There vas…no doubt, no 'esitation. I just…knew."

"I guess you did, since you cast a fully corporeal Patronus on your first try," Pansy noted after a moment, shaking her head. "What was the memory you used, if that's not too personal a question? Maybe it was one particularly powerful?"

"The first time I saw my sister Gabrielle," Fleur replied, a soft smile crossing her lips. "And maybe. I 'ad never cast a Patronus before, so I 'ave nothing to compare it with."

"Mm, right," Pansy agreed. "Tell me something else then?"

"Mm?"

"What do you think of your fellow Champions?" No doubt a bit of color commentary would be welcomed by her readers, and frankly, she was curious what Fleur thought of George.

She was certain that she'd be meeting with the Hogwarts Champion eventually, so she could get his take on things, as the Stone Cutter had a habit of seeking her out for duels every now and then when she was training. She lost more than she won, but she didn't mind that much either, given that she enjoyed the challenge posed by his unconventional fighting style, and that it was always wise to learn the skillsets of one's future partners, if her Master's comments about the Weasley twin meant anything.

The fact that he was rather easy on the eyes and had an interesting sense of humor was just a nice bonus.

Though speaking of potential partners…

' _I wonder why Master hasn't recruited Lovegood, come to think of it. She is rather powerful, given the abilities she commands, but perhaps she would be a handful even for him!'_

Still, George's visits weren't exactly predictable, so she'd take what she could get.

Sadly, Fleur's recitation was remarkably free of any hints of scandal, with the part-Veela's giving a statement to the effect that she felt both of her competitors must be quite skilled to survive the first Task, but then, that was simply what was expected of a Champion.

Clearly, she was reluctant to say anything too controversial when speaking with a reporter whose Self Writing Quill was active, which Pansy found understandable. All the same, it wasn't particularly interesting, so the Assassin's apprentice decided to change tacks.

"Let's go off the record," Pansy suggested, setting aside her notepad and taking hold of her Quill to cease its movements. "Perhaps you could tell me something about the Second Task?"

"…why?" the part-Veela wondered aloud, studying the enigmatic reporter.

"Well, what we were told was rather…slim, and I'd like a little information to get ready for the net article," the brunette answered, rather humorlessly. "I'm not asking for any secrets, mind you, or to know how far you've gotten, since I'm sure you've been doing just as well as in the First if you have time for some light reading."

Fleur's expression twisted into a grimace despite herself, as she glanced down at the tome in her lap, a rather dry volume entitled _Enchantment and Artifice._

"…zis is 'ardly light reading," the blonde replied mildly, tossing her hair in annoyance. If she was being honest, the book wasn't very helpful for her, as it assumed a great deal of pre-requisite knowledge which she did not have. She wasn't exactly looking forward to browsing through the stack of books beside her, either, given that none of this would realistically help her to figure out what to do. "But I suppose I 'ave time."

"Well, who knows, maybe talking will help you figure things out," Pansy suggested, though the Beauxbatons Champion looked fairly skeptical. "Couldn't hurt at least."

"…true," Fleur conceded. "I suppose it vould not 'urt. But only if you vill not write about…"

"Hey, I said off the record, didn't I?" the Assassin's apprentice chided primly. "That means I won't be writing about what we say now."

"Hmph. I suppose," the part-Veela agreed, sharing what she'd been told about her Task, including the timing of it, the purpose, and how each Champion needed to unlock the secrets of their orb to progress in any meaningful way.

"Unlock them, huh?" Pansy murmured, glancing over at Fleur's stack of books. "Sounds like you're having some trouble."

"Mm."

"I don't think I can be of much help," the reporter commented. "After all, I don't know much about making or unraveling protective charms, except that sometimes a sacrifice of blood is needed."

Fleur's eyes narrowed at Pansy's words.

"Rely on…blood?"

"Yeah," Pansy confirmed with a shrug. "Either to prove who you are, or as a show of your intent. But I'm sure you tried that, right?"

* * *

When George came to, he didn't know how long he'd been out. He didn't know why he was lying on the ground, where he was, or what he had been doing before that. He just knew that his wand wasn't in his hand, and that everything _hurt._

' _My body…why am I…'_

He shifted into his spirit form, breathing a sigh of relief as the pain faded away, and he could finally move once more. But what he saw as he rose didn't give him any reassurance: his quarters were a wreck, with jagged shards of wood and metal crushed against the scarred stone of the walls, the solid oak door had been torn apart, and what few possessions he'd brought with him to Durmstrang, other than the clothes he was wearing and the ring on his hand…had been destroyed.

Even his wand, which had been one of the first things that had been truly _his,_ was gone, broken to pieces in the aftermath of the Blasting Curse.

Yet, amidst the devastation, one thing remained untouched: the golden orb he'd been trying to unlock, the very item on which he'd cast the Blasting Curse to begin with.

He drifted next to the orb and phased into solidity once more, touching the orb with a bloody hand to be certain it _was_ still there, that this wasn't some illusion, or some fevered dream.

He just wanted to reassure himself, but to his surprise, as his blood-covered fingers grazed the once-inert item, fiery red writing began to appear on its golden surface.

Runes, arranged in a curious pattern.

Sowilo. Laguz. Ti…

' _Its…a puzzle. An elemental puzzle…'_

A hint towards what he needed to do to fully unlock the orb…which hadn't appeared until now, when his…

' _My blood. My…blood. Is_ that _what it needed?'_

Blood. The foundation of the Dark Arts, the very discipline that Durmstrang specialized in. All this time…all this time, he'd been looking for a password, when the key he'd needed to begin accessing the orb had been inside him all this time.

The boy wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, the utter absurdity of his situation.

He wanted to laugh at how he'd lost almost everything he'd ever owned, yet had lost nothing of value, really.

' _Everything…everything I've needed all along, its right here. In me.'_

And so, George Weasley laughed.

He laughed and laughed and laughed and _laughed_ …all of which, combined with the scene of devastation and him clutching the orb against his bloody body, made quite an impression on Radu Eshkol Mann, Commander of the Banner of Serpents, and a number of his year-captains, who had come to investigate the cause of the massive explosion.


	41. Up to No Good

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 41.** _Up to No Good_

"A rather unusual request, Matou." The youthful features of Kaiduka Shiosai, the five-tailed _kitsune_ who served as familiar to the Maiden of the Tree, seemed uncharacteristically severe as he regarded the boy before him – a boy who had come to visit him at his office at _Mahoutokoro_ and ask a peculiar favor of him. "Especially as you do not seem the type to drink to excess, unlike some of the more…spirited students I have seen…"

"…not Sajyou-san, certainly?" Shinji couldn't help but wonder.

"No, certainly not," Kaiduka agreed, raising an eyebrow. "Still, my apprentice's drinking habits are not quite relevant to you, I think. Or to why you are requesting that I assist you in procuring several casks of _daiginjo-shu_."

( _Daiginjo-shu_ referred to a type of premium sake whose manufacture required both precise brewing methods and specialized ingredients. Special types of yeast and rice that had been milled over and over until only the starchy inner core remained – removing over half of the kernel in the process – coupled with special techniques passed down through generations led to brews with light, complex flavors with a subtle fragrance best savored when chilled. Considered the pinnacle of the brewer's art, it was understandably quite pricey – and something Kaiduka couldn't really imagine Matou Shinji needing at all at his age, much less in large quantities).

"I…" Shinji began, but trailed off, considering how to explain the particulars of his situation to the _kitsune._ He supposed it would have been far less troublesome to just approach Tomas and ask him for a favor, but somehow, after the puppet had hit him with a Killing Curse, the boy didn't feel like being in Tomas' debt, or interacting with him more than he had to. "I need it for a project I'm working on."

"Oh?" Kaiduka intoned, crossing his arms as his bone-white tails _twitched._ "Explain."

It was always a little odd for Shinji to explain himself to the _kitsune._ One might expect that he had gotten used to giving explanations for his actions and reasoning, given his former apprenticeship with Aozaki Touko and his current one with Gilderoy Lockhart, but it was different with Kaiduka – probably because the ancient _youkai's_ usual guise was that of a young boy.

' _I wonder if he chooses to look like that to unnerve people, since I'm sure he could look like whatever he wishes,'_ the boy wondered idly. _'He has in the past, after all, back when he was Kitsuno, Oda Nobunaga's mistress.'_

Still, whatever guise the _kitsune_ chose to wear, Shinji knew that it would be futile to hide things from it – after all, one did not become Second Owner of Kyoto and Guardian of the City Below without having some ability to discern essential truth from convenient fiction.

"If you must know, I intend to hunt down a _tanuki_ that's gone…rogue," Shinji stated, succinctly summing up the quest he'd set for himself after his trip to the shrines of Kyoto with Sajyou-san. "It's wreaking havoc over at Durmstrang, and needs to be stopped. This behavior…"

It had nearly destroyed the reputation of Fleur Delacour altogether, making most think of her as a loose woman with no morals, a seductress who used her charms to steal secrets and gain any advantage she could. Indeed, had the part-Veela not cast a _Patronus_ during the First Task, cementing her position as one of the most powerful and talented witches of her age – and Shinji was still wondering how she had managed _that_ particular feat – the stigma of the accusations hurled at her would have crippled her in the future.

"And why is the _tanuki's_ master not handling this himself?" the Guardian of the City Below inquired, the coldness in his eyes reminding Shinji that while the _kitsune_ had been generous in the past, the _youkai_ was still an ancient being with fairly high expectations of those to whom much had been given. "It is his duty to keep it from doing such mischief, is it not? Unless, of course, you believe that Weasley-san is in fact responsible for the _tanuki's_ deeds..."

"Fred would never…!" Shinji began to protest, but his words died in his mouth as he considered how different Fred was from how he had been – how a seed of hatred and loathing had taken root in the older youth, watered by grief and despair, inadequacy and guilt. Indeed, Fred's rage burned hot towards Krum and Delacour, towards werewolves, towards anything even remotely related to the Quidditch World Cup, but even so, surely he wouldn't have…he wouldn't have…would he? Shinji shook his head, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't think he's behind it. I talked to George, and from what he says, Fred thinks his familiar…well, that the _tanuki_ ran away months ago."

"Is that so?" the _kitsune_ noted. "That is a rather serious allegation, given what it implies about your friend's character. I do not know if you are aware, but it is extremely rare that a familiar simply disappears. Indeed, such only occurs if a master has proven him or herself unworthy in a _youkai's_ eyes time and again."

"Unworthy?"

"Indeed, Matou," Kaiduka explained. "Perhaps you are unaware of this, due to the special circumstances in which you acquired your familiar, but it is common for _youkai_ to test the worthiness of prospective and current partners."

"Oh? How do they determine worthiness?" Shinji asked, intrigued. "Is it a matter of magical strength?"

"Partially," the _kitsune_ explained. "Strength, or at least the potential for strength, is almost universally respected among us, but for most _youkai,_ strength alone is not enough for one they would choose as a partner. As a rule, they heed the choices one makes and the actions one takes, with _kitsune_ looking for a master who is both curious and has unconventional insight into the world, _tengu_ seeking those who are diligent and who have a strong sense of justice, _satori_ bonding with those who wish to learn more about the world around them, and _tanuki_ valuingthose who are clever and playful, who can see through their illusions and have a good sense of humor."

"And if a master is found unworthy?" the Hogwarts Potions Champion inquired, tilting his head. "What then?"

He knew from his readings that some spirits served less than willingly, and so sought any opportunity to escape, sometimes slaying the master in the process. He didn't _think_ that was the case here, given both the long-running relationship between _onmyouji_ and the _youkai_ , and the fact that most _youkai_ who became familiars chose to do so willingly (with the exception of _tatarigami,_ as malevolent spirits who became curse gods, as a rule, refused to submit unless beaten), but…

"If the contract was one a _youkai_ and a practitioner entered into willingly, the connection may simply be dissolved, with each going their own way," the ancient fox related, shaking his head wearily. "Assuming the master has not been cruel, neglectful or dangerous to its safety and has tried to honor the terms of the partnership, a _youkai_ willusually make some suggestions to help a practitioner find a suitable partner."

"So if Fred's familiar just vanished without a word, that means that he was…cruel or neglectful?" Shinji they may remain on good terms, questioned.

"Or that he proved himself grossly unsuitable," the five-tailed fox summed up. "Even so, were your comrade a student here at _Mahoutokoro_ , that would likely be the end of it. It would be simple enough for the _tanuki_ to choose a new master, to find a home in the City Below as a free _youkai_ , or even to return to the territory it once called home, if it so chose. Unfortunately, given that the _tanuki_ you seek has chosen to go astray in a place notoriously distrustful of outsiders, things may be more complicated, given that it will be surrounded by those who do not understand – and cannot oppose – it, with no way to return home, and no way to guarantee its safety if its presence were to be revealed. This 'Maeve' no doubt feels threatened and so is attempting to gather enough power to guarantee her safety against any potential foes."

"Huh." Shinji frowned. That was certainly a wrinkle he hadn't considered. All this time, he'd assumed that the _tanuki_ was just out to satisfy its desires without a care for those she caused trouble for, but… "Is there any other possible explanation for the _tanuki's_ behavior?"

"Well, it could be a test for its master, to see if he will confront her – though if that was the intent, I think he rather failed," Kaiduka suggested, his lips taking on a thoughtful expression. "Or perhaps…it is a challenge."

"A challenge?" Shinji asked, rising an eyebrow. "For Fleur Delacour, the French Champion, whose form and powers the _tanuki_ has been borrowing?"

"No," the _kitsune_ corrected, his deep red gaze unsettling Shinji. "For you."

"…me?"

"Were it not for your arranging for your allies to come to _Mahoutokoro_ this summer, the _tanuki_ would not be at Durmstrang," Kaiduka interjected, with Shinji wincing, given that some part of him _did_ feel responsible for this debacle. "She no doubt is aware of this – just as she is aware that you spoke in defense of the French Champion and have pledged yourself to defending her life and honor, yes?"

"…I wouldn't go that far," Shinji mumbled, flushing as he looked down at his feet. "But yes, I am acting as Fleur's bodyguard. So what…you're saying that the _tanuki_ is acting out to get me to notice her? Well, she has my attention – but what does she want after that?"

"To test if you are worthy to decide her fate," the ancient fox familiar supplied gravely.

"What." Shinji blinked, as he hadn't expected to hear _that_ of all things. "You mean, she wants me to track her down and become her new master?"

But Kaiduka Shiosai shook his head.

"If you did not already have a familiar, perhaps," the _kitsune_ explained. "You have potential enough, and tracking down a _tanuki_ would be proof of your cleverness. Unfortunately, as you already have a familiar – and a _kodama,_ at that – this is unlikely to be an option."

Kaiduka smiled slightly, shaking his head.

"Why would that matter?" Shinji asked.

"It matters because _tanuki_ are somewhat vain by nature and do not like to share a master with another _youkai,_ much less a shapeshifter such as a _kitsune_ or a _kodama._ "

"Why those two, in particular?"

"Because both _kitsune_ and _kodama_ remind _tanuki_ of what they have lost. Once, _tanuki_ were thought of as something like _kami_ , with their unrivaled transformation abilities symbolized their rule over nature."

" _Kami_?" Shinji echoed, raising an eyebrow at this unexpected tidbit of information. "You mean…like those of Shinto? Like Inari?"

Inari Okami was one of the greatest of the gods of Shintoism, ruling over agriculture, industry, prosperity, worldly success – and foxes. Indeed, Kaiduka's bone-white coloration marked him as a messenger of Inari, a status which no doubt endowed him with more power than his five tails would indicate.

(Inari, of course, was also the god of sake, which was the _other_ reason Shinji had approached the _kitsune_ for help with obtaining some high-quality brew as opposed to going through Tomas. It was often best to go to the source for these things, after all!)

"Similar," Kaiduka acknowledged, with Shinji nodding thoughtfully at this. "When Buddhism took hold, however, only _youkai_ who were considered messengers of the gods – _kodama, kitsune, tengu_ and such, continued to be revered, with _tanuki_ , instead of being worshipped as divine, relegated to the role of the bumbling trickster."

"Huh…I never knew that."

"Few enough do," the fox noted with a shrug. "But yes, the fact that your familiar is a _kodama_ is why the _tanuki_ would refuse to become yours. And why it is unlikely it will refuse to accept any help or guidance without you proving yourself worthy of its attention at all."

"Which, from what you've said, means proving myself stronger or cleverer than it," Shinji inferred, as an odd thought crossed his mind. "Finding it – and then fighting it?"

"Much like the other _tanuki_ you encountered in your travels, yes," Kaiduka acknowledged, referring to the incident during Shinji's familiar hunt in which a _tanuki_ in the form of an _onikuma_ had nearly taken his head. "It is likely that to earn the _tanuki's_ respect, you will have to subdue her."

' _Now that I know this…I wonder if it was Fred's_ tanuki _which set the security troll on Fleur and me, in order to learn more about my abilities in the event I accepted its challenge and came after it...'_

All things considered, the possibility fit rather well with what he knew, as _someone_ had broken the chains binding the troll, with the lack of anyone nearby easily explained away by a _tanuki_ 's superior transformation abilities. And while he _had_ dispatched the troll easily enough, it had forced him to demonstrate a number of skills…

' _Though if that's the case, I'm glad I didn't decide to show off and resort to fusion immediately, or that could have been bad.'_

"So, Kaiduka-dono…what _are_ my options for what to do with the _tanuki,_ assuming I manage to subdue it?"

"Given that this Maeve will not become your familiar, you have two main options," the _kitsune_ answered after a moment. "The first, which I suspect the _tanuki_ would be happiest with, would be to bring the _tanuki_ to _Mahoutokoro,_ from which she can choose her own fate. The second, which I would prefer you did not choose, would be to slay her."

"…I see," Shinji grunted. If the ancient fox didn't want him to slay the _tanuki_ , then the _tanuki_ would not be slain – though he was certain that subduing the _youkai_ without using lethal force would be…considerably more difficult. "Any suggestions on how to go about subduing a shapeshifter without lethal force, then? Especially one glutted on prana from her…misadventures?"

"Bring companions," Kaiduka responded immediately. "Ones whose abilities complement your own."

"Oh?"

"You are powerful for your age, I grant, but you have never faced a _tanuki_ in the fullness of its might before. Though they are thought of as fools, they retain their skill at transformation, and are exceptionally dangerous in a fight, as their only limits are that they cannot copy magical _items_ one wields – or more than one being at a time." Kaiduka smiled slightly. "Incidentally, this is one of the other reasons we in magical Japan use tools like _ofuda_ , and techniques like _fusion._ "

"Because so many _youkai_ are shapeshifters?"

"Indeed so," the fox acknowledged, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "There is one other thing…"

"Yes?"

"Bringing companions _would_ allow you to assign one of them to become the _tanuki's_ new master, as their role in defeating it would prove their worth," Kaiduka noted.

"You mean, there was an option besides killing or deporting it?"

"Only if you do not confront the _tanuki_ alone," the fox pointed out. "Else, how is it to know the practitioner is worthy?"

"I see," Shinji voiced. "This has been most…enlightening. But, master, as to the matter of the alcohol?"

"I suppose I can make arrangements for a cask or two," the _kitsune_ said agreeably. "But only if you have a way to transport them without the British Ministry becoming aware of them. It would not do for Britain to suspect the existence of a connection between our two lands, would it?"

Shinji smiled, for he'd anticipated _this_ concern, at least, withdrawing a certain tome from his robes – the possessed grimoire known as the _Book of Potions_.

"I can conceal whatever I acquire within the pages of this book, thanks to the spirit possessing it," the Hogwarts Potions Champion said confidently. "The Aurors at the security checkpoints have never bothered searching it, and even if they did, it wouldn't do much good."

"Very well then. Your wish will be granted." Kaiduka Shiosai nodded gravely. "Though I warn you once again: do not underestimate your opponent."

"I won't. And thank you."

* * *

"You want to borrow Pandora?" Luna inquired from her position on Shinji's lap, her curious silver gaze seeming to look into him.

The two were nestled together in front of the fire in his London manor, reading and sipping on hot cocoa, as was part of their weekend routine before they retired for more physically strenuous activities. They'd moved on from the epics of Tolkien to the adventure stories of Jules Verne, and were currently reading _Journey to the Center of the Earth,_ where Luna had just read the line: _Science, my lad, is made up of mistakes, but they are mistakes which it is useful to make, because they lead little by little to the truth._

"If it's not too much trouble," Shinji agreed, hesitating as he considered how to explain. "I've told you about how Fred's _tanuki_ ran away, right?"

"Mhm."

"…yeah, well, it's causing trouble at Durmstrang, and I'm the only one who can stop it," the boy concluded glumly. "I don't think anyone else would stand a chance. Except maybe you."

And perhaps Rachelle Lestrange, though he doubted even the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons would be capable of subduing the _tanuki_ with non-lethal means. Not if it fought back with everything it was capable of…

Willfully turning his thoughts away from the blonde Alchemist, Shinji proceeded to explain the situation, including what he'd learned from Matsuo-san's _kitsune_ familiar, and how he needed allies to stop it.

"I could go with you, if you wanted," Luna murmured, twining her fingers with his. "I wouldn't mind fighting by your side in another land. I've been to the north before, you know."

"Yeah, you mentioned that you and your father often vacationed in Sweden, looking for the Crumple-horned Snorklack," Shinji said distantly. "I don't think it's quite as cold as Svalbard though."

"No, I suppose not," Luna agreed,

It went without saying that Shinji was sorely tempted by Luna's offer to come with him, given that if it came down to a fight, there was no one at Hogwarts who he'd rather have by his side, as her abilities well complemented his own. Few he knew would be able to stand against both of them, especially if they were both in fusion form, with the stealth, speed, and raw magical power of hers complementing the hardened defense and physical force his could bring to bear.

And that wasn't even taking into account his paramour's affinity for yang – healing – magic, and how valuable Shinji had come to find magical healing after the many trials, training exercises, and ordeals he had gone through.

Still – there were practical considerations, such as the fact that he didn't know how long this little quest of his would take, and that if she were to be discovered missing from Hogwarts (again), or were to come to harm at Durmstrang, requiring treatment from the facilities there, her presence could precipitate an international incident, which was the last thing the already strained relationship between Magical Britain and the rest of Magical Europe needed.

…and however else Shinji might be, how willing he might be to face displeasure on an international scale, he didn't want to put Luna through that – didn't want her to become the new Helen of Troy, a causis belli for a war that ended up destroying an entire nation.

"If it were just up to me," he began softly, one of his arms tightening around her waist. "I'd say yes in a heartbeat, and you know that." The boy shook his head, a sad smile gracing his lips. "But it isn't. There are factors here beyond you and me, and as much as I'd love for you to come…"

"…I can't, can I?" Luna asked, looking away from the boy she loved, her usually dreamlike expression growing serious and focused.

"No," Shinji answered, shaking his head. "While no one can replace you, I think I'm going to have to secure allies from people already at Durmstrang and make the best of it."

"Miss Parkinson, then?" Luna inquired, to which Shinji nodded.

"Yeah. She and I are both Lockhart's apprentices, and she knows how to keep a secret," the boy informed her. He thought perhaps the Beauxbatons Potions Champion might be amenable to helping as well, provided that he worded his request well, but he didn't want to worry Luna by telling her about the fierce, dangerous Alchemist he spent a great deal of time with these days.

"She's a good choice," the petite blonde concurred. "Creative. Good at fighting, very quick. But will she be enough?" she murmured, squeezing his hand. "The last time you fought a _tanuki,_ you almost died."

"Don't worry, Luna – I'll manage to find at least one more." He chuckled weakly. "Or at least, I hope so."

The two were silent for a long moment, before Luna finally spoke again.

"Well, whether you do or don't, Pandora will watch over you in my place," she murmured, tilting her head as if listening to something only she could hear. "She tells me she's always wanted to see what fighting a _tanuki_ is like, now that she has better control over her own transformations."

"Heh," Shinji snorted, amused to know that the _tanuki-kitsune_ rivalry apparently went both ways, even if those like Kaiduka were mostly beyond that. "Thanks, Luna. I…appreciate it."

"No need. I spend time with Zelkova, so why shouldn't you spend time with Pandora?" the girl reasoned, with Shinji being quite grateful for how understanding she was as he pulled her more tightly against him, savoring her warmth and softness.

"You know, it occurs to me that I probably won't be able to spend Christmas with you, with everything going on," the boy said, leaning close so that his hot breath tickled his lover's ear. "It also occurs to me that I have a guest ticket to the World Potions Championship, and that I haven't invited anyone yet."

"Mm?"

"The Champions are expected to participate in the Yule Ball, and they've already assigned us dates," Shinji explained apologetically. "Apparently, I have been given the honor of escorting Miss Fleur Delacour, Tri-Wizard Champion of Beauxbatons."

"The one you swore to protect?" Luna asked, with Shinji blinking. "It was the talk of Hogwarts a few weeks ago."

"…something like that, though I wasn't charmed by her allure or anything the _Prophet_ suggests," Shinji interjected, perhaps slightly defensively. "I just wanted to make sure she wouldn't be hurt again, since she doesn't deserve people coming after her for something she didn't do."

"That's kind of you."

"Maybe," the boy said with a brittle smile. "I'm a foreigner myself, you know? So it's to my advantage if people in Britain begin to realize that not all of us are dangerous – or at least, not dangerous to them. There's not really anything good or kind about it, just me looking for an advantage."

"Mm, I think you don't give yourself enough credit. You're a better person than you let yourself believe, or else you wouldn't be tracking down this _tanuki_ without any real hope of reward. _"_

Shinji sighed and shook his head, not really wanting to continue on this line of conversation.

"Maybe," he said, not entirely convinced. "Or maybe I just don't want to be blamed if someone else realizes the _tanuki_ is behind this…mess, and I'm why Fred had the _youkai_ in the first place." He smiled ruefully, knowing that even if others blamed him, Luna never would, which was something to a comfort for someone like him. "Anyway, as I was saying, the Isle of Thule is one of the few remnants of the last age. And since you enjoyed visiting _Mahoutokoro_ , I was wondering if you accompany me to the isle when it is time?"

"Of course," Luna murmured, as she turned and kissed him lightly on the lips. "I would be honored."

"Oh no," Shinji whispered. "The honor is mine."

* * *

True to his word, upon returning to Durmstrang, the first thing Matou did was to approach Pansy Parkinson about joining his adventuring party, though true to form, the girl refused to agree to something without knowing the details.

"So, let me get this straight," the brunette summed up. "The incidents that nearly ruined Miss Delacour's reputation were caused by a magical creature from your homeland. A dangerous shapeshifting _youkai_ that was brought here as Fred Weasley's familiar, but has since gone rogue, seducing everyone it comes across using Miss Delacour's face and Veela powers."

"…that's right," Shinji said gravely, with the white fox trailing him – Luna's familiar, Pandora – yipping in confirmation.

"Instead of telling the teachers, you want to put a stop to its depredations yourself, since you don't want to cause any trouble for Fred…or for yourself, if the true culprit were known," Pansy continued, shaking her head. "You want to take care of this quietly – and you want my help."

"That's about the long and short of it," Shinji agreed, his eyes canny.

"It's kind of funny, you know," the girl said conspiratorially. "Only you could get yourself into a situation like this. Or well, maybe the other Stone Cutters, but they're not exactly standing united this year, are they?"

"Unfortunately, we aren't," Shinji agreed, a shadow flickering over his features. "As much as I wish it were otherwise, we've all been pulled in different directions by the realities of life. George is a Champion, with his own duties. Fred is…not being very cooperative. Luna can't be at Durmstrang. And I don't want to risk the Youth Representative to the Wizengamot on something like this."

"True," Pansy mused aloud. "If Harry were to be killed on an excursion like this, I think Britain would have your head."

"…yeah, that's about what I thought too," the Boy from the East agreed. "Which is why I'm approaching you. You're smart, you have ambition and ability beyond your years, you can keep a secret."

"Flattery won't get you very far, Matou, not this time, though I do enjoy it," Pansy warned, favoring Shinji with a smirk. "Most of the time, sure, but the level of danger you describe isn't something I can just accept. As you mention, I am Lockhart's apprentice, and somehow I think he'd be mildly upset if I just up and died."

"You don't want an opportunity to test Lockhart's training in a live-fire setting?" Shinji countered. "You do well against George, and even against me, but what about if you face someone that won't pull its punches? Something that can adapt, wear different forms and use different abilities?"

Pansy raised an eyebrow at the transparent attempt at manipulation, shaking her head.

"You'll have to do better than that, Matou," she said reproachfully. "Make me an offer. Something that would actually tempt me into joining you on something as dangerous as you make this sound."

Shinji fell silent, thinking hard about what he could offer, what bits of knowledge or training she might find useful, as—

"Yip!"

—inspiration struck.

' _That's right, it doesn't have to be something I have, does it?'_

"How about the chance to make this shapeshifter into a familiar?" Shinji inquired solicitously. "It would be a rare, powerful creature from my homeland which happens to be without a master, after all."

"…go on," Pansy said softly. "You have my attention."

"Well, think about it," Shinji continued. "After we defeat the _tanuki_ , we'll need to decide what to do with her. And just between you and me, I think that letting you become her new master would be better than just exiling her back to Japan, yes?"

"And the only way that is possible is if I'm part of your party?" Pansy questioned.

"Yes. _Tanuki_ only respect those who are either more powerful than they are, or cleverer, and unless you're there when its defeated, it would be difficult to prove your worth as a partner for it," Shinji explained. "Frankly, I don't want this situation to repeat itself. Once was enough."

"That's a fair point. Nothing is gained without risk, I suppose, and obtaining a rare and powerful familiar is nothing to scoff at," Pansy admitted. "Though that leaves the question of why me. I will note that compared to what you're capable of during fusion, or with the special gear you've procured for yourself, what I know isn't all _that_ useful. Itwill be, under Lockhart's tutelage, but I'm not quite there yet."

"Well…" Shinji said, after but a moment's hesitation. "To be honest, you're one of the few people here I think I can rely on. We both have secrets we'd rather not let the rest of Britain find out about, we both know about truths of the world, and we both hit far above our age group. Even if the level you're at now isn't quite up to what I can do in fusion, its damn impressive – you've worked hard, Pansy. If anyone deserves a chance at greatness, it's you."

Parkinson's cheeks colored slightly for a moment at the compliment – at the _acknowledgement –_ from Matou, her lips tugging up for a bit before her expression smoothed itself out.

"Besides, even if you aren't that powerful alone – you won't be alone during the battle," Shinji said quietly. "You'll have me…and Pandora."

Pansy glanced over at the white fox, blinking as if seeing it for the first time.

"Pandora, you said. That would make this Lovegood's familiar, yes?"

Pandora _yipped_ in confirmation.

"I've seen what she can do – is that what she's here for? To help me match your level?" Pansy inquired, curious about what the boy intended.

Shinji nodded.

"It won't be fusion, but Pandora can certainly offer you support during the coming confrontation," the boy elaborated. "As you know, _kitsune_ are masters of stealth and wind—"

"Yes, Lovegood has shown me _that_ much," Pansy sniffed, an expression of wry amusement tugging at her lips. "She is utterly vicious during duels, you know? Has a nasty habit of handing me my arse." Then her smile turned mischievous. "Still, at least it's a firm, attractive arse. Woudn't you agree, Matou?" she asked, flashing the boy sultry smile.

"A very attr—err, right," Shinji managed, shaking his head to clear of it of otherwise distracting thoughts. "Anyway, as I was saying, Pandora can help you become invisible, or use wind magic to help boost your speed and help you hit harder with physical strikes."

"So, no fusion, but Pandora can basically keep me disillusioned, while providing me with aconsiderable speed boost," the brunette mused, running a finger over her pursed lips. "Both of which complement my fighting style nicely. I do say, you know how to charm a girl."

"Some have said that before," Shinji said noncommittally, not entirely comfortable with this line of conversation.

"Yes, I imagine some have," Pansy chuckled. "Granger, perhaps. Maybe the girl who lives with you. Perhaps even Delacour, given what the papers say."

"Pansy…" the Boy from the East growled.

"Sorry, couldn't help it," the girl quipped. "But I suppose if Lovegood thinks you have enough of a shot at this to lend you her familiar, I won't second-guess her. She may be a strange girl, but of everyone at Hogwarts, she knows you best – and what you're capable of," Pansy reflected, looking the boy and down. "In that case, we have a deal. In exchange for receiving assistance from Pandora during the battle _and_ being put forward as a potential master for the _tanuki,_ my wand is yours to command."

"Agreed," Shinji affirmed quickly, with the two shaking hands on the deal. Certainly, Pansy had a somewhat mercenary disposition, but she was both good at keeping secrets, and fairly reliable in dangerous situations. And while unsupported, she might not be a threat to a high-level enemy, coupling her training in the art of movement and her ability to rapidly conjure platforms of runes she could use to shift direction with the abilities of Pandora made her a far more potent combatant…

…just as partnering her with a _tanuki_ would, if everything worked out.

"Great!" Pansy said brightly, with the thought of she might be able to do with a shapeshifting familiar making her almost salivate. But she shook her head, dismissing such thoughts. Now that they'd agreed on a deal, it was important to find out what kind of operational constraints she was going to be under. "What's the time-frame we're looking at?"

"From now until the Yule Ball – less than a month," Shinji supplied.

"Workable," Pansy noted. "I'm assuming you have a way to lure the _tanuki_ out into the open?"

"That's being handled, yes," Shinji commented. " _Tanuki_ have a weakness for good quality alcohol, which I think I can exploit."

"…you have alcohol?" Pansy asked. "Where did—" But the girl cut herself off. "Actually, don't tell me. This probably falls under something I don't need to know, right?"

"Pretty much," the boy admitted. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I know the value of need to know," the girl noted. "Our Mentor has taught us that much. On another note though, will it just be the three of us going to confront the _tanuki_? Or did you plan to approach someone else?"

Pansy couldn't really think of anyone who the boy would approach who wasn't already a Champion, and thus busy with other responsibilities, or who didn't have the freedom of movement necessary. Though, he had been spending a great deal of time with…

"…Rachelle Lestrange," the Boy from the East admitted. "I was thinking she'd be useful for this, since she has a vested interest in stopping this threat to Fleur's reputation."

"And?" Parkinson pressed, sensing that Matou's stated reasons were leaving out something…rather significant. "You do realize she is a Champion, right? And if she were to get hurt from something like this…"

"She won't," Shinji interrupted. "I'll make sure of it myself. Besides, she's an Alchemist, someone whose knowledge of potions greatly exceeds my own."

"I'm surprised you'd admit that."

"I'm a fourth year – she's a seventh year from a school which specializes in potions, descended from a lineage of Alchemists that stretches back to the first Director of the Center of Alchemical Studies," Shinji rejoined. "There's no shame in admitting the obvious, is there?"

"I suppose not," Pansy conceded. "You think her knowledge of potions will be useful?"

"Well, given that neither you nor I are exactly great with healing magic, a potions expert could be useful, wouldn't you say?" Shinji questioned. "Especially someone who can hold her own with rune and blade."

"…point."

* * *

Later that night, Shinji found the petite blonde out in the frozen wastes, wearing her navy blue dress as she practiced her sword play away from the prying eyes of others, her movements a dance of light, metal, and magic that the boy didn't wish to interrupt. Indeed, to his mind, interrupting would be to profane something sacred, to mar something beautiful, so he waited as her supple form and shining blade finished their movements and stilled themselves at last.

"Is something ze matter, Champion Matou?" the Beauxbatons Potions Champion inquired, acknowledging Shinji's presence without bothering to look at him. "You could have…waited in ze tower, if you vished to talk to me."

"Not when this is something that I don't want anyone else listening in on," Shinji replied, his eyes glowing gold as he tapped into Zelkova's ability to see the unseen. "And if I recognize some of the runes you've laid down, you include protections against being spied on by magic."

Her curiosity piqued, Rachelle sheathed her blade and walked over to the boy, noting how the glow faded from his eyes.

' _Much like ze spirit who spied on me…'_

"Vat is it, zen?" she asked softly. "Zomezing that you do not vish ozers to over'ear."

If it was some kind of love confession, with the boy admitting his painfully obvious attraction to her, she'd have to turn him down, as she simply wasn't interested, even if she found it somewhat…gentil. But what he said instead shocked her.

"I've found the one responsible for the rumors about Fleur," the Hogwarts Potions Champion declared, his words carrying the force of a thunderclap, for all his voice was soft.

"…you 'ave?" the Alchemist asked. "Who is it, zen?"

Shinji shook his head, thinking about how to explain, but Rachelle didn't give him much of an opportunity.

"Speak, Champion Matou," she all but commanded. "If you know something, tell me."

"Right," Shinji said, nodding once. "The thing is, it's…not a who, but a what."

"A…vat?"

"A nature spirit," Shinji explained, "with the power to take on the forms and abilities of others."

"Doppelgänger? Or something like a _ka_ – a spirit double?" Rachelle inquired, thinking back to the folklore and myth she was familiar with as an alchemist.

"Similar, but not quite," the Boy from the East noted. "It's a _tanuki_. A shapeshifting spirit from Japan."

"…from Japan?" the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons echoed, puzzlement crossing her delicate features. "But 'ow did it get 'ere?"

That was something else Shinji didn't want to get into, given that he didn't want her to think badly of him, but…

"It was someone's familiar," he managed after a beat. "Not mine, but a friend's. Only it ran away from its master."

"A…familiar?" Rachelle echoed, tilting her head in confusion. "A…pet?"

"In this case, a partner, bound by a pact," Shinji explained, thinking that her background should have taught her about that much. "Only the contract was broken by…well, nevermind that. The end result is that the _tanuki_ is loose in this land, and is seeking to gather magical energy, which as you know as an Alchemist, can be found in one's bodily fluids."

"Ah…so using Fleur's form…"

"Was a way of maximizing it harvest, since her abilities make it easier to seduce others," Shinji explained.

"Not you, apparently, Champion Matou," the Alchemist noted, as the boy had thrown off the full extent of Fleur's Veela allure – something she hadn't thought was possible.

"Well," the boy said, shooting her a shy smile. "That's because my heart already belongs to someone else."

"Oui. So I see," the petite blonde noted, not really wanting to be rude, but not really wanting to deal with a youth's feelings of love either. "Vat are your intentions towards zis beast, zen?"

"I'm going to stop it from continuing its mischief, whatever it takes," Shinji declared earnestly.

"And…?"

"I'd like your help," the Japanese boy admitted. "That is, if you're interested."

"…I am, oui. Vat is it you require?"

The grim alchemist's lips curled up into a cold smile, the smile of a predator that has sighted prey.

Shinji explained the basics of the situation, with an emphasis on needed someone to trap the _tanuki_ and on his woeful lack of healing abilities – something that could prove quite fatal against a foe with many varied – and dangerous – abilities.

"I 'ave something zat might 'elp," Rachelle admitted, removing a vial of blue liquid from her dress and offering it to the boy, who took it hesitantly, his fingers brushing hers as he did.

"What is this?" Shinji asked, seeing no obvious clues as to what it did, as it seemed too small a dose to be a healing potion.

"Ze first component of a binary 'ealing potion."

"A…binary healing potion?" Shinji echoed, confused. "What exactly is—"

"A potion zat functions using a reaction between two components," she explained diffidently. "Ze primer in your 'and is swallowed. Alone, it does nothing."

"But…"

"It reacts with a second component – a deadly toxin zat is odorless and colorless – making it 'eal, instead," Rachelle stated, her words sending a shiver down Shinji's spine.

"…and how is this second component usually deployed?"

"Via aerosol," the girl responded simply, with Shinji's eyes widened at the ramifications of this.

"So…what you're saying is, in battle, you deploy an aerosol that is…quite toxic to other people," Shinji summed up, swallowing. "But since you've taken the primer, it…heals you instead?

"Oui," the Etoile Noire of Beauxbatons confirmed. "Do you…'ate zat I do such, Champion Matou?"

"…no. Not at all," Shinji whispered. "Its…brilliant, actually. But…why haven't I heard about anyone else using such a thing?"

"Because zey are not Alchemistes, and so lack ze knowledge of 'ow to create something like zis," Rachelle said with a gallic shrug. "Zey zink potions are meant to be drunk or thrown, zat zey are meant to be complete in a single vial, not…"

She trailed off, her expression unreadable.

"…fools," she eventually concluded.

"Why did you show me this?" Shinji asked, after a few moments. "Rather, why did you explain the mechanism behind how it worked? Surely that's a risk, given that I'm one of your competitors?"

"You 'ave asked for my aid for a worthy cause," the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons stated simply. "I vould be a poor companion on ze battlefield if I did not explain properly. I will assist 'ow I may, in whatever way you need, but in return…"

"…I'll owe you a favor proportional to the danger and the help rendered," Shinji concluded, feeling like on solid ground again. "Equivalent exchange, yes?"

" _Oui_."


	42. Smoke Signals

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 42.** _Smoke Signals_

For those at Durmstrang, it was easy to become lost in the spectacle and scandal surrounding the Tri-Wizard Tournament, most of which involved the fair Champion of Beauxbatons. Between the attempt on her life (and Viktor Krum's!) by members of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the way the British Potions Champion had effectively pledged himself to her service – seeming the very image of a gallant knight swearing his allegiance to a beautiful lady, the allegations of how she indulged insatiable appetites by luring innocent wizards and witches into her bed with inhuman wiles (something that most only wished she had done to them) and her conjuring of a _Patronus_ during the First Task, the part-Veela had captured the attention of all who crossed her path. For good or for ill, she _shone_ , blazing like a shooting star in the ebon arctic sky.

By comparison, the impressions that the Tri-Wizard Champions of Hogwarts and Durmstrang had left on their fellow students were rather more subdued, though their names came up in discussion every now and then.

Even the members of the Council of the Host, meeting in the cold stone Tower to discuss the affairs of Durmstrang, were not entirely averse to indulging in gossip and speculation, as there were few other fewer distractions from the cold of winter and the grumblings of their visitors.

As such, the affairs and performance of the Champions had become a topic of quiet speculation, the subject of a game, with the small sums they wagered and favors they used as forfeits serving as a substitute – if a poor one – for the substantial stakes involved in their usual bit of political intrigue and maneuvering.

"It truly is a pity that Headmaster Karkaroff decided to keep our visitors from a truly…authentic Durmstrang experience," Radu Eshkol Mann, the dark-eyed Commander of the Banner of Serpents, said diffidently as he jotted down a few notes. "Yes, we have the rotations and duty schedules, but what of our other traditions? One would think that the Beauxbatons students at least, being Continentals, would welcome a bit of subterfuge and intrigue."

"You say that, Radu, but I know for a fact that your annoyance stems from the cancellation of Quidditch this year, not from any lack of intrigue." The one who replied was Sylvana Terum, the stunning young woman who led the Banner of Wolves. She chuckled faintly, shaking her head. "Indeed, I would think you would be glad of it, given that you and the Raven Lord both prefer to work in the shadows, a skill not well-suited for the pitch."

"For all that, we managed to assemble decent enough teams, Sylvana," Andreas Tørnquist, the aforementioned Raven Lord, noted mildly. "Teams that could even counter the force of nature that Krum is on the field. All it took was finding the proper incentive."

At a school like Hogwarts, Quidditch would simply have been a beloved sport – and a spectacle besides, with the more athletic individuals of a given House clamoring for the honor of joining the House Team and competing for the Quidditch Cup, with the other members of a House claiming their teams' victories as theirs – even though they'd had no part in it.

At Durmstrang though, Quidditch, like everything else, was part of the ongoing conflict between the three Banners, with the action on the pitch being only the most visible example of the efforts that went into securing success – much as a battle was the culmination of a huge amount of preparation.

Much time went into recruiting and vetting candidates who wished to join a Banner team, anticipating and countering the stratagems their foes were likely to employ – and of course, those which were less likely due to risk, but which if executed well could pay great dividend, arranging for cross-training between the main and reserve teams, so each member got used to working with the others, and to taking the lead at a moment's notice, and of course, studying the teams of the other Banners.

Were there weaknesses in group strategies or formations that could be exploited? Any resentments or frustrations among individual members which could be capitalized upon? Why was a given member loyal to their Banner? Could their loyalty be suborned with some appropriate inducement, and if so, what would be needed reach a mutually beneficial arrangement?

Of course, there were limits on what one could offer, with each Banner supplied with standardized equipment, inspected before each match to prevent either deadly sabotage (enchanting an opponent's broom with a hurling hex so that would be flung to their deaths during a game) or an attempt at truly unsporting play (for instance, disguising a smuggled in state of the art racing broom as a school-supplied instrument to gain an advantage), but it was good training for all those who participated in helping to prepare for each game, for each season, and for each coming year.

There _were_ other ways the Banners used as a standard for comparison, such as the dueling championships where the Champions of each Banner faced off against one another, or the merit system as a whole, but it was the Quidditch season that could best be described as a campaign in miniature, and thus of great interest for a school whose very purpose centered around martial magic.

"I suppose so," Sylvana allowed, the cheer fading from her pale features as her lips pressed together into a thin line. "If only his prowess on the pitch and his skill in the Dark Arts had translated to better performance as a Champion."

"Annoyed on his behalf, Sylvana?" Radu inquired, raising an eyebrow. "How very unlike you."

"On my Banner's behalf, more like," the Lady of the Wolves corrected, rising from her seat at the Council Table, and making her way to the window so she could look out upon the darkened grounds below. "You are aware of the ideals the Banner of Wolves values most, I trust?"

"Loyalty, Teamwork, and Unity," the Serpent Lord recited, the candlelight in the room glinting from the golden medallion of office he wore. "As opposed to the skill and stealth of the Serpent, or the knowledge and ingenuity of the Raven."

"Morale is becoming something of an issue in your Banner, I take it?" Andreas questioned, with a flicker of surprise crossing Sylvana's features as she turned to regard the Raven Lord. "It is easy enough to understand, given the ambush that nearly took Krum's life, the rather…unsatisfying British response, and Krum's…lackluster performance in the First Task. Your subordinates feel he has been wronged, and wish to do something to help him – yet they cannot."

Sylvana sighed, tossing her white locks as she shook her head.

"…that is the long and the short of it, yes," she conceded bitterly. "And that is without them being aware of how Britain decided to _honor_ those would-be assassins with commissions in its new army."

"I assume Krum and Delacour know, at least?" Radu inquired, receiving a nod from both the Lady of the Wolves and the Raven Lord. "If any have a right to know the fate of those cretins, it is they."

"They do," Andreas replied gravely. "They know, that is. Just as we know."

The Commander of the Banner of Ravens had learned of this from Matou Shinji, of course, with his peers on the Council being briefed by Karkaroff on the matter. The Headmaster had asked them not to mention these details to the students under their command, as did not wish to provoke any reprisals against the students of Hogwarts (who were, after all, his _guests_ ). And while the Council had not been happy about his request to keep his information from their subordinates, they understood the necessity for it, given that any incident that resulted from this might be seized upon by the British Ministry as a pretext for further escalation.

"I am curious about one thing, Sylvana," the Serpent Lord interjected. "From what I recall of the official account, you had the opportunity to finish those would-be assassins, did you not? Why didn't you?"

"Perhaps I would have, had I known the events that had transpired before my arrival and the miscarriage of justice that was to occur," the Wolf Commander noted coolly. "As it was, however, I am not in the habit of simply executing unconscious men and women in cold blood. Especially without knowing what brought about the scene of devastation before my eyes."

"Even though the official fiction is that it was your intervention which ended the fight?"

"A fiction only, I'm afraid," Sylvana admitted, making her way back to the table and plopping herself heavily in her chair. "According to what Karkaroff mentioned, someone – or several someones – stopped the assailants before I could, with the spells used implying extreme facility with the Dark Arts."

"Someone from one of the other schools, perhaps," Radu suggested. "I do not deny that some of our more combat-focused students may have been capable of such a thing, but they would have remained at the scene to explain what had transpired."

"…true enough," Andreas allowed. "With the exception of their Potions Champion, however, the Beauxbatons contingent has not struck me as being especially competent in the realm of combat, and she was nowhere near the Great Hall at the time of the incident."

"Hogwarts, then?" the Lady of the Wolves questioned. Realistically speaking, it was the only choice they had available, yet…it made no sense. "But, I don't understand. Why would a Hogwarts student fight his or her fellows?"

"Perhaps because he feels no sense of loyalty to them?" the Serpent Lord inquired with a dangerous chuckle. "I will point out that there _is_ a powerful British Wizard whose whereabouts at that time were never questioned – and in fact, _has been unaccounted for_ during the majority of the last month."

"…you mean George Weasley, the _Tri-Wizard Champion_ of Hogwarts?" Sylvana's raised her voice incredulously.

"Indeed. A youth who respects strength and by his own words, was angry at those who would have denied him the chance to test his capacity," Radu concluded. "I didn't think much of his little speech, but he's demonstrated fairly unusual behavior for any wizard."

Unusual behavior such as not bothering to emerge from his quarters for food or drink or any sort of companionship over the course of an entire month, without seeming dehydrated or famished at all when he appeared for the first task.

Unusual behavior such as showing no trace of anxiety when confronted with a vicious Selma, and a willingness to experiment with blood magic that was quite uncharacteristic of the British, given their fear and hatred of what they deemed "Dark."

To Andreas, it was quite likely that the Tri-Wizard Champion of Hogwarts was hiding what he was truly capable of, but even so, that was no crime. Of if it were, the vast majority of those at Durmstrang would be equally guilty.

"Perhaps. It _is_ rather convenient that no one could identify the assailant," Andreas chimed in, spreading his hands. "And I agree that the Champion's behavior has certainly been rather odd. But what we have is nowhere near enough to be conclusive. And even if it were, whatever would we do with it?"

The Raven Lord's question brought the others up short.

What _would_ they do, if, by some strange turn of events, Britain's Tri-Wizard Champion was indeed a powerful Dark Wizard, one who had turned his wand against his countrymen?

"Nothing."

This time, it was Sylvana Terum who broke the silence, with the young woman's voice as hard as refined steel.

"We do nothing," she repeated. "After all, he defended us and ours, did he not? If he has committed any crimes against Britain, that is between him and the British Ministry."

"Fair enough," Radu Mann said quietly. "I suppose I am simply worried about the possibly of a new Blood War in Britain, only a short decade after the last, but that is hardly my business, is it?" He shook his head. "Even if he is a new Voldemort in the making, so long as his depredations and attentions are focused on Britain, then it would be best to leave well enough alone."

"Indeed," Andreas noted dispassionately. "As Councilors and Commanders, we are responsible for what goes on at Durmstrang, not elsewhere in the world." Perhaps he smiled then, though the expression on his face had little enough to do with mirth. "Certainly, the affairs of Britain should not overly trouble us – those are a matter for those above us."

"True. And I suppose it is a blessing that the Delacour sightings have ground to a halt after the First Task," Sylvana commented. "Especially as Delacour, if Delacour it was, seemed to enjoy seeking her pleasure from those in my Banner." Her brows drew together then as she tilted her head thoughtfully. "Oddly enough, she seemed to make a point of visiting the most frustrated and angry of my subordinates."

"I would say something about how dark, brooding wizards tend to attract attention, but…" Radu shrugged eloquently. "What I find interesting is that there were few rumors of her taking liberties with those in the Banner of Ravens, even though she belonged to it. Of course, some would ascribe that to a need to keep her 'bodyguard' from becoming jealous, but…"

"Somehow, I don't think the Potions Champion of Hogwarts is quite that susceptible to a Veela's charms," Andreas interjected. "Besides, if he _is_ interested in anyone from Beauxbatons, it would be the Lestrange girl he's always looking at. Though…I don't particularly think that she's interested in him, or at least, not in the way he hopes."

"I suppose she may simply be curious about how one so young became a Potions Champion," the Wolf Commander commented wryly. "Is he truly that skilled, or did Hogwarts simply have no other candidates?"

"I suspect, that like the Tri-Wizard Champion, he has skill and knowledge he has not yet revealed," the Raven Lord commented. "I strongly suspect that he has received training from _Mahoutokoro_ , the Japanese School, for instance, and they are usually the favorite to win the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship – or the World Potions Competition, as it has become."

"I will defer to your expertise, Tørnquist," the Lady of the Wolves allowed. "You are more aware of the particulars of that competition than I."

"So I am. Still, I'm glad Matou's been mentioned, as I wanted to pass along an idea of his – a substitute for Quidditch, if you will."

"Oh?" Radu inquired, glancing at the Danish youth who commanded the Banner of Ravens. "And what did the British Potions Champion have in mind? A Gobstones Tournament?"

"Capture the Flag, actually," Andreas corrected. "Apparently, at Hogwarts, it became a sport enjoyed almost as much as Quidditch."

"Really? Capture the Flag at Hogwarts?" Radu questioned, blinking. "With or without wands?"

"With."

"Ah, so something like the group combat scenarios and drill we do as part of Quidditch training?"

"That's right," the Raven Lord confirmed. "According to Matou, and to Parkinson, who apparently served as the sport's coordinator at Hogwarts, it was quite popular. They suggested it as a way to help bleed off some of more pressing…tensions in our Banners before things come to a head."

"In other words, give them a time and place where they can point wands at one another and settle old grudges – but with enough of an audience that they can't indulge their darkest impulses," the Lady of the Wolves mused. "The idea has merit." She eyed Andreas gingerly. "I assume that whatever we decide to do as a group, you've already found someone to coordinate this for the Banner of Ravens."

Andreas smiled disarmingly.

"Why of course," he said grandly. "If it's a good idea, why not put it to use?"

"It will draw the Hogwarts students in, if only because it is their sport," Radu voiced aloud. "Those of Durmstrang, because it is much like what did before this year. Those of Beauxbatons…"

"Well, I'm sure they enjoy a spectacle as much as the rest of us, no?" the Raven Lord questioned. "And I'm sure there are a number of them that wish to prove themselves, given that Delacour wasn't the only one who submitted her name to the Goblet of Fire."

"True. There were a great many unhappy Frenchmen in the penal work detail the morning after," Radu commented. "Will you be having them sign up as complete teams?"

"No. In the Banner of Ravens, at least, we are having interested wizards and witches sign up as individuals, with the coordinator in charge of sorting them into reasonably balanced teams," Andreas explained. "They do get to put down one person they would like to be on a team with, and someone who they would not, however, so we don't go into the matchmaking process completely blind."

"Once a team is assembled, that assignment becomes permanent for the remainder of the season, I assume?" Sylvana inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Unless a player quits, in which case, the team has the choice of taking on a newbie, or disbanding." The Raven Lord sighed, shaking his head. "In an ideal world, where we had more time to arrange all this, perhaps we could allow for more flexibility, even tracking the win-loss ratios and performance records of individuals. But this not an ideal world. We're pulling this together in a short amount of time, and without much of a budget, and I don't want our coordinators overburdened. Even if they did volunteer for the position."

"Heh…you never change, Tørnquist," the Lady of Wolves muttered, though there was hint of fondness in her voice that she quickly stamped out. "I, ah, suppose you'll want us to adopt similar structures?"

"Yes, if only because I would like to have an all-School Championship at the end of the year, before our visitors return to their home institutions, and an even playing field is usually recommended for such a thing. Let's give the student body something to think about and _actually_ do something to furthering the Tri-Wizard Tournament's alleged goal of fostering international cooperation."

"It doesn't really do a good job of that, does it?" Radu questioned.

"Well, no it doesn't," the Wolf Commander admitted. "For all the pretty words said about it, in the end, the Tournament itself is just a competition between three individuals. One that has seen its share of scandal, given that the Champions – and their schools – tend to be focused on the monetary prize and the so-called 'eternal glory' one obtains from victory."

"It isn't even very good for promoting intra-school cooperation, since Champions aren't allowed to receive help from anyone but their competitors – and the chances of that happening…"

Radu Eshkol Mann trailed off, clearly not believing in the innate good of humanity – or at least not believing that their desire to help one another would be crushed before their desire to win, cooperation falling at the feet of competition, in some twisted game of co-opetition.

"I would call that a rather cynical way of thinking about the world, if experience did not tell me otherwise," the Raven Commander chimed in, in the casual way of his that often made one forget that he could be a very dangerous man. "No one is incorruptible. And if someone seems to be, that simply means their loyalty was bought for a price one cannot match at present."

"Well, here's hoping that at the very least, we can keep too many grudges from forming this year, even if international cooperation is off the table," the Lady of Wolves sighed.

"Well, we'll see. Few hold grudges longer than the French," Radu commented, raising an eyebrow. "Save perhaps, the Russians, some of whom are still sworn to bloody vengeance against the line of Zolgen, even hundreds of years after that wizard's passing."

"Well, not just the French. Even Krum holds a massive grudge against Grindelwald for what happened to his grandfather, as many from elsewhere in Europe hold a grudge against Durmstrang because Gellert Grindelwald once attended this institution – even though he was expelled for lack of discipline. Sadly, humans are rarely reasonable creatures."

"Say rather, while we pay lip service to reason and civility, there is more of the animal in us than most of us would readily admit," Sylvana quipped, a sad smile gracing her lips for a moment – though when Andreas looked again, it was gone.

* * *

In the last month, there had been very little that Fred Weasley had enjoyed at Durmstrang. The all-pervasive cold seemed to seep into his very bones, the unending work details he kept getting assigned to were grueling, and the darkness of the sky seemed oppressive – as oppressive as the stench of the Dark Arts lingering in every classroom, in every hallway.

But then, why wouldn't it?

This _was_ where Grindelwald had gone, wasn't it? Where he had learned the arts of war, and all the foul magics that he had turned on unsuspecting women and children? As much as the school tried to deny it, tried to claim that the Dark Arts weren't evil – that it was how one used them that determined their quality, Fred knew better.

After all, why would a decent person want to learn spells that were cruel and monstrous and human, spells whose sole purpose was to break the will of others, to cause them pain, to kill them? Why would a decent person willingly spend time around murderers like Delacour and Lestrange? Why would a decent person betray the trust of the country which had given him so much?

Why would a decent person defend an emissary of death like Viktor Krum?

It was simple.

They wouldn't.

That was how he knew that those around him in the Banner of Wolves were aptly named, that they were simply wolves in human shape, waiting for him to make a mistake - any mistake – so they could tear him apart.

What could he expect from a Banner where Krum had once been second in command, and where the frigid Commander had discovered the Hufflepuffs and had seen to it that 'justice was done' (to use her subordinates' words)?

So was it any surprise that he had been _delighted_ – that he had laughed – when he'd seen Krum emerge from the water, his body nearly torn in two, thinking that perhaps the murderer might meet his end at last, ironically slain by the first of the trials his own school had arranged?

Alas, Krum had lived, souring his mood greatly – with Fred being chosen for yet another work detail, sentenced to _another_ week of menial labor, forced to do the most demeaning of chores without the benefit of magic.

When he asked why, the response was simply that was his turn – though he knew they were lying, that they'd heard him laughing, and were determined to break his will.

That was what Dark Wizards did, after all.

But they'd made a mistake in introducing Capture the Flag to Durmstrang, apparently having heard of success that Hogwarts had enjoyed with the combat sport last year, and outright stealing the idea.

Or perhaps they hadn't stolen it, and Matou had told them about it – and if so, that would simply be another sign of disloyalty, an indication of the Japanese boy's inconstant loyalties, just as his dogged pursuit of the slag Delacour.

So Fred Weasley had signed up for Capture the Flag leagues, with others from Hogwarts volunteering to join him for the glory of fighting beside a Stone Cutter, thinking that at last, he had a chance to prove his worth as a warrior, that at last he would have his revenge.

' _I will fight, and I will win. I can no do other.'_

…even if it meant crushing the hopes of his younger brother and the Minister's son, the co-captains of the team that the Lady of the Wolves had ever-so-sadistically pitted his against for the first game in the season.


	43. Blood and Bone

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 43.** _Blood and Bone_

Matou Shinji stood before the door of Aozaki Touko's workshop, a vial of fresh blood clutched tightly in one hand. He raised his hand to knock, but lowered it, a frown crossing his face as he consiered who might be behind it. If it was his former Master, then that was all well and good, but if it was Tomas Peverell, the puppet familiar created from a horcrux of Voldemort, well...

Suffice it to say that being struck with the Killing Curse was a rather unpleasant experience, all things considered. He'd survived thanks to being fused with Zelkova, though as it was, the spell had still done him quite a bit of spiritual trauma, nearly enough to sever his soul from his body completely.

 _'If that had happened...'_

Well, if that had happened, Matou Shinji would have been no more, and not just in name. Instead the spell had 'killed' his fused state, ripping the mind and soul of his familiar from his, leaving a wound which would ordinarily still have taken a good bit of time to recover from, had the enigmatic Sajyou Ayaka not stepped in to help put him back together.

He'd gone out of his way to avoid Tomas at _Mahoutokoro_ after that, not wanting to be reminded of the incident or feel the phantom pain from the place the spell had struck. True, he'd had conversations with the puppet once or twice, but those conversations had been nowhere near the workshop that the automaton called home, with Tomas having apparently sought him out while he was distracted with something else.

He couldn't think of another reason for the puppet to have been near the Potions Lab that Sajyou-san used, after all.

' _Now that I think about...was he...checking on me?'_ the boy wondered, frowning. But if so, why? Had Touko asked him to? Was the automaton concerned about his Master's reaction if he had killed one of her former apprentices? Or was Tomas just curious, as he was about so many things?

Matou Shinji didn't really know, and to be honest, he didn't really care, as it was none of his business anyway.

' _Still, maybe I should just have let George get a wand from Britain. I'm sure the Ministry would have paid for one for their Tri-Wizard Champion,'_ he thought to himself, shaking his head. _'But no, I had to make him an offer…'_

Concerned by what he'd heard, Shinji had gone to check up on George, after the accident - and before he set out on the Tanuki hunt, as he didn't know how long that would take, or what shape he'd be in afterwards. Initially, he'd thought he'd just have to sneak into the Durmstrang infirmary to visit his old friend, but as it turned out, the Hogwarts Tri-Wizard Champion had not been present, as the British Ministry had _requested_ that George be sent back to Hogwarts for examination, not trusting that the 'accident' hadn't been some sort of assassination attempt.

That had been something of an inconvenience, but there had been nothing for it to but go along with things, so Shinji had returned to Hogwarts, heading to the infirmary, only to find that there was a brace of army trainees dressed smartly in black and silver robes, barring entrance to anyone except teachers, Aurors, or others on official business.

"Apologies, Mister Matou," one of the guards had said apologetically. "We're not to let other students pass without the permission of a teacher or an Auror."

Shinji had blinked at that, trying not to let his annoyance show on his face.

' _What?'_

"You do realize I'm a Champion of Britain, right?" the boy had inquired sharply. "A Stone Cutter, who has saved this school numerous times. And a personal friend of Harry Potter."

"I'm sorry, but we have our orders," the guard had insisted, and that was that.

Or rather, that would have been that, had the infirmary door not opened to reveal at the moment, with Ginny Weasley, the acting-Commander of the Ourea, emerging from within, escorted by none other than Gilderoy Lockhart himself.

Ginny had paused and greeted him formally, inquiring as to his health, as she'd heard it was quite cold up at Durmstrang. The boy had replied that he was doing well enough, and that he hoped she wasn't getting sick, given the flush on her features. Why, he'd joked, her ears were almost as red as her hair!

She'd smiled weakly at that and wished him good luck, before turning to Lockhart. The History Professor had turned to meet his gaze for a second before nodding himself.

"Gentlemen," the adventurer intoned. "Please let Mister Matou pass. The Potions Champion has business with Mister Weasley, and my permission besides."

The guards had saluted and stepped aside, and with that, he'd left, with Ginny in tow.

As Shinji had entered the infirmary, the first thing he'd noticed was a faint buzzing in the background, muffling sounds in the distance. He'd raised an eyebrow, and followed the buzzing to its source, where he found George sitting up in bed, with what looked like the _Book of Spells_ in one hand, and something – a flame? A bird? A living shadow? – cupped in the palm of the other, shifting from one form to the next moment by moment.

"Just getting some practice with wandless magic, since I seem to have lost my wand," the older Stone Cutter had said by way of greeting.

"Is that…?" Shinji had inquired, glancing at the tome in the Tri-Wizard Champion's hands.

" _The Book of Spells?"_ George had asked in turn. "Indeed it is, Matou. Professor Lockhart was kind enough to lend it to me. Thought I could use some light reading after all."

"Light reading," Shinji had echoed.

"Or what passes for it in these parts," the Weasley twin had noted simply, snapping the book shut and setting it down as whatever had been in his other hand vanished. "Come to visit, have you?"

"Do you really need to ask?" Shinji had asked dryly. "I was…concerned, after hearing about the explosion in Serpent's Refuge."

George had simply chuckled.

"Oh, you head about that, did you?" the older Stone Cutter said airily. "Well, as you can see, I'm none the worse for wear, though I can't say the same about my possessions. Lost everything except – well, no, I lost the clothes on my back, too, so it's just the dragonhide robes and one of the daggers Lockhart gave us some time ago."

"I'm…sorry to hear that…" Shinji had offered weakly, but George had waved his concerns away.

"I have enough money in Gringotts to replace the lot, I'm sure," the redhead had reasoned. "And the Ministry has offered to replace my wand free of charge, since I'm a Champion. What else do I need?"

Sensing that George didn't really need consolation, Shinji had decided to change tacks.

"So…what did Lockhart want?" Shinji had inquired, perhaps a bit too casually.

"Oh, Gin-Gin wanted to visit, and with the restrictions these days…"

"Ah."

But George hadn't quite been finished.

"That, and he offered me to have someone he knew craft me a set of dagger-wands not unlike what Pan…Parkinson uses," the Tri-Wizard Champion of Hogwarts had continued, a thin smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I admit, it's a tempting offer, though with being Champion and having my wand on record, I'm not sure it would be wise to accept." George's smile grew sharper, if anything. "Why, people might begin to suspect I was…dangerous."

Shinji had taken the opportunity to rest his forehead in the palm of one hand for a minute, knowing as he did that as a _satori-_ user, George _was_ quite dangerous – a fact that a score of Hufflepuffs had discovered to their detriment.

But like all minutes do, this one had passed.

"Well, you seem to be doing well enough for yourself," the boy had said, straightening. "I suppose you'll be taking the Ministry's offer then?"

"Unless you have a better one for me, Matou?" the older Stone Cutter had inquired. "You do have…certain connections, as I understand. A…Rachelle Lestrange comes to mind."

Shinji had stiffened at the mention of the Beauxbatons Champion's name.

"What about her?"

"Since she is a French citizen, with access to Beauxbatons and its surrounds, I'm sure she could arrange for a wand to be crafted for me, no?" George had wondered aloud. "After all, with…how I am now, I'm wondering if…another core might suit me better than Dragon Heartstring, Phoenix Feather, and Unicorn Hair."

"…a good question, that," Shinji had agreed. "So you want me to get a custom wand for you?"

"If you think that's best," the older Stone Cutter had said agreeably enough. "Otherwise, I suppose I could take one of the other offers. Ollivander wands are certainly good quality, but…well, I don't feel they suit me so well now."

"And if I do?"

"Do this for me, and I'll owe you a favor, to be repaid as you like," George had offered, his smile rather thin once more. "I think that's worth a bit more to you than money, since you have rather a lot of it."

"Well, if you put it like that, how can I refuse?"

As it happened, making a wand was a rather personal sort of affair, and since George wouldn't be able to show up personally to be measured and assessed by whoever was to make his wand, he did the next best thing, filling one of Shinji's potions vials with his blood.

"This should be enough, right?" the older Stone Cutter had asked, as he'd pressed the vial with its crimson contents back into Shinji's hands.

Shinji had nodded and placed the vial back into his potions pouch.

They'd talked about a few somewhat more inconsequential things after that, but soon enough, Shinji left the infirmary, heading not for the Vanishing Cabinet to Durmstrang, but to the Room of Requirement – and the illicit connection to _Mahoutokoro_ , where his footsteps had led him to his present location.

After all…

' _I still don't really want to talk to Tomas, but…I don't really feel like owing Rachelle another favor, either…'_

While it was true that asking her to get a wand crafted for George likely wouldn't be an especially large favor to ask of her, he didn't think adding to what he owed her would be a particularly good idea, given that favor he would end up owing for her participation in the _tanuki_ hunt would likely be…sizeable.

' _How sizeable, I don't know yet, but…I don't really want to.'_

He supposed he could have simply gone to _Asplund's Shop of Horrors_ to obtain a wand, given that he knew the man sold them, but…somehow, he didn't fancy paying the price required for one, even if George would end up owing him.

And asking Matsuo-san was not an option, since her services were not only quite expensive, but were not something one could casually request. From what he knew, she only took commissions she considered to be personal interesting, given that crafting was not her primary role at _Mahoutokoro._

Which just left Tomas, really.

Steeling himself for whatever happened next, Shinji raised his hand to knock – only to freeze as the door opened before he could do so, revealing that an unamused automaton had indeed been lurking within the inner sanctum of his former Master's workshop.

"This isn't one of those automatic doors, you know," the puppet remarked wryly. "You have to knock. Or at least try the doorknob."

Shinji just blinked.

"I don't suppose Master is in?" Shinji asked hesitantly.

"I'm afraid not," the dark-haired youth replied. "She's out on business at the moment, but perhaps…I can be of some assistance?"

The Japanese boy strongly considered leaving for a second, but thought better of it, not wanting to offend the automaton. Instead, he simply nodded, with Tomas Peverell chuckling as he stepped back and bade the boy to enter the workshop.

' _This is…different…'_

Indeed, as he looked around, Shinji found that the place looked rather different from the last time he'd seen it, with considerably less of his former Master's usual clutter present. In its place were a number of items he imagined must belong to Tomas – several artifacts of goblin-steel or gold, a potions rack filled with shimmering silver vials, a small ebony cabinet, an hourglass in which the grains of sand fell upwards, and an old map of Europe on the wall.

'… _Lockhart has one very much like this.'_

Very much indeed, down to the locations marked on it in red and black ink.

There were four Xs on the map, in blood red, placed near the Accursed Mountains of Albania, Minsk (the capital of Belarus), somewhere in Yorkshire (Britain), and somewhere in the south of Poland, though Shinji recognized none of these _._

Paired with those however, were two locations he did recognize, the city of London and the town of Hogsmeade, both of which had been circled in black, with question marks beside them.

"…exactly how long has Master been away?" he asked curiously, turning to note that the puppet had been observing him as he looked around.

"A good while," Tomas replied simply. "Between some contract work in Mifune City, business she is handling on behalf of your patron, and training an apprentice, she has been rather busy as of late."

Shinji sighed, shaking his head.

"Right, I'd—" He cut himself off as something registered. "Business for my patron?"

"Something about negotiations with the Wandering Sea and provisions to equip a similarly designed facility," Tomas said with a shrug.

'… _a similarly designed facility? Is Sion building…a moving mountain base? And if so…what for?'_

He decided that perhaps it would be best not to ask though, since he was sure that Sokaris would tell him about it if she wanted him to know.

"So, what is it that you needed, Matou Shinji?" the puppet inquired solicitously, to which Shinji simply removed George's vial of blood from his potions pouch and held it up. "Ah, you wish to learn the secrets of blood magic, perhaps? Rituals to help you become more magically potent, or…"

"That's…not what I had in mind," Shinji interrupted, his expression a bit chagrined. "George asked me to have a wand crafted for him, and I was…hoping you'd have a recommendation?"

"Something from Ollivanders won't do, I presume?" Tomas asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

Shinji only shook his head.

"Ah, because of his…condition," the puppet noted sagely. "Well, in that case, might I recommend a Beauvais or Gregorovitch?"

"Gregorovitch I've heard of," Shinji admitted, given that he himself owned a wand from the infamous wandmaker. "But…Beauvais?"

"Ah, yes, I forget, with Britain's…prejudices, you are not likely to hear of an American wandmaker, especially one quite like _her,_ " Tomas explained, seeming almost…amused. "Her wands were fine indeed, crafted of Hawthorn and rougarou hair, though they were said to take to the dark arts as quickly as vampires to blood. She herself does not leave America, but I believe her niece and heir is here in _Mahoutokoro_ on something of an exchange program. If you would like, I can ask her to craft something… _exquisite_ for you."

"I…let me think about that," the boy from the East said simply.

"By all means. But be aware that I am leaving for Europe tonight, and will not return until sometime tomorrow," the automaton warned.

"Oh?"

"As it so happens, I have some business with Gregorovitch," Tomas said simply. "If you desire, it would not be an inconvenience to pass along your order for you."

"Well, if that's the case, I think the choice is clear," the Boy from the East said quickly. For if those were his only two options…

"Speak then, Matou."

Shinji did, handing over the vial of blood.

Tomas regarded the contents, a slight frown crossing his features for a moment before his expression returned to something like its usual smirk.

"Very well," the puppet noted after a moment of silence. "Everything seems to be in order. I'll make the arrangements. Any last questions?"

"Just…when will the wand be ready?" the Potions Champion of Hogwarts inquired. "George needs a wand for the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Tomas paused.

"Tomorrow evening,"the so-called Peverell intoned with an air of finality. "With your choice, I do not think you'll be…disappointed."

And with that, Matou Shinji took his leave.


	44. Damnatio Memoriae

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 44.** _Damnatio Memoriae_

For the vast majority of Severus Snape's life, the half-blood had found himself a follower, drawing direction and purpose from the vision and goals of charismatic individuals like Lord Voldemort or Albus Dumbledore. At first, he'd done so by necessity, but over the course of his life, he had come to willingly accept what he had once been forced to do.

Why?

Because those he served offered him a place by their side, trusted him as much as one could trust a subordinate, promised him protection from the abuses of the human-shaped monsters who'd turned his life into a living hell, whose cruelty had taken everything he loved from him until there was nothing left.

Nothing left but vengeance, and eventually, not even that remained.

One of those monsters was his father, Tobias Snape, the muggle who had taught him what it was to be afraid, showed him how little his 'magic' was worth against someone who truly meant to do him harm. To this day, Severus remembered cowering in a corner during one of his father's all-too-frequent fits of rage, while the older man screamed at his mother, hitting her if she ever tried to speak up for herself, only stopping when she collapsed. The worst thing was, one never knew what would set Tobias off, so being at home was like being trapped in a dark room with a leaking stove, wondering when – not if, but when – someone would come in and turn on the lights – whereupon everything would explode.

Where other children had either feared imaginary monsters that lived under their beds, or magical beasts which lurked out in the world somewhere, Severus had feared something all too real and all too _there_ : his father. In normal families, parents helped their children overcome their fears, but Snape's only exacerbated them. His mother, a once-great witch, who'd told him stories of Hogwarts once upon a time, seemed utterly helpless at the hands of his father, having resigned herself to the fact that things would only get worse if she tried to help herself.

Being a young and fundamentally honest person at the time, he hadn't been able to understand _why_ this was. Surely, with her magic, Eileen Snape could have done something to improve her situation? The fact that she _hadn't_ convinced him that she _couldn't_ , that such a thing was impossible, that no amount of magic, no matter how great, would ever be enough to change things.

So, Severus hadn't tried to change things, not when someone older and more powerful than he had already failed.

Instead, he the only thing he could think of.

He ran.

Not very far, and never for very long, but run he did, staying away from his family house for hours at a time, seeking any excuse to get him away from his unhappy family. Every day, he would slip out while his parents weren't watching, taking one of his mother's precious schoolbooks with him, tomes whose contents spoke of another world entirely. A secret world of magic and wonder, barred to Muggles, a place where his father _could not follow._ Snape would read those books for hours on end, partially because he'd always been a bright student with an insatiable thirst for knowledge, but mostly because studying them helped him pretend that he was far away from Spinner's End, at that far off place called Hogwarts, where things were...better. Once upon a time, his mother had gone there, and she had been happy.

She'd had friends, friends who scribbled notes in the margins of her books about boys and Hogsmeade and Gobstones practices, friends who had once been there for her...

Until of course, she'd left that world and come to Spinner's End, where the monster had broken her, crushed her will until there was no hint of the girl she had once been, leaving only a woman resigned to her fate.

The more Snape read of the other world, the place where magic _mattered_ and where happiness wasn't some fleeting dream, the more he wanted to go to that other world, to make a place for himself there. And so his studied became even more obsessive, even more feverish than before, with the boy paying little attention to anything else, whether it was his appearance or social graces or anything of the like.

His obsession with the other world, coupled with his obvious poverty, was enough to make others in his neighborhood think he was weird and possibly dangerous, with other children his age keeping their distance from him as if he was some of monster. But that was fine, he'd thought, he didn't need them, didn't need muggles like his father. When he went to the other world, the magical world, he'd leave them all behind.

He'd even be happy, whatever happiness meant, since that too was something he hadn't understood - not until the day he'd met Lily, in an encounter that had changed his life.

Unlike the sour-faced Muggle children, she hadn't been scared of him, but then, Lily was a witch, someone who, like him, belonged to that other world of smiles and joy and happiness. She was a clever girl, one who listened fondly to his stories of Hogwarts, who smiled at him, who laughed with him, who showed him that he didn't have to go to another world to find happiness.

Lily had been his one and only friend, not caring about his worn out clothes, how he wasn't good with people, or all the other things people said about him.

She accepted him for who he was, something that Severus Snape had never experienced before.

If Snape wanted to be honest with himself, and he almost always was, these days, his relationship with her had been one of the few good things in his life, one of the things that had kept him going, reassured him that things would be alright in the end no matter what had come before. Being around her, talking with her, sharing quiet moments with her, just being able to be her friend; those simple things meant the world to him, because no one had ever treated him like he was worth anything.

Not until Lily.

She gave him hope that what he'd read about the other world was real. That at Hogwarts, things would be different from how they were at Spinner's End. That no matter what people said about him behind his back, no matter how dysfunctional his family or how rusty his social skills, he might be able to make something of himself.

To become someone who Lily would be proud to know, to become strong enough, great enough that one day he might be able to help someone else as she had helped him.

And maybe Severus Snape could have done just that, if Tobias had been the only monster in his life.

Alas, it was not to be.

As much as he'd hoped that Hogwarts would be a new start for him, that in the magical world, he'd be able to make friends and earn respect for his talents, his plans came to naught, when he ran afoul of the monsters at Hogwarts. Oh, not the creatures who roamed the Forbidden Forest or lurked in the depths of the Black Lake, but those that wandered the halls and rode the train, who sat beside him in classes, at meals, in the common room.

Human beings, the cruelest monsters of all, with James Potter and Sirius Black, the worst of the lot, being just as vile, bigoted and hateful as his father had ever been.

Bullies who thought it was good fun to ruin another person's life, they had chosen him as an acceptable target because he was poor and knew no one, yet dared to aspire beyond his station, because he was pale and gaunt and unattractive, yet was friends with someone beautiful. They, the spoiled scions of wealthy families, judged him unworthy, hating him from the very moment they'd laid eyes on him, simply because he wanted to join Slytherin House - the place where his mother had found happiness. For that, they'd declared him as an enemy, judging him to be a Dark Wizard because their feeble little minds could not entertain any other reason to join the house of the ambitious.

And while there were a great many others in the house of Snakes, they'd chosen him as the victim of their schemes time and time again for that most banal of reasons: because they could. He'd fought back, of course, giving as good as he got, hoping that with a demonstration of how he wouldn't just allow himself to be a victim _yet again_ , they'd leave him well enough alone, but if anything, his attempts to drive them off had only made things worse.

The laughing monsters had redoubled their efforts, destroying his things, stealing the spells he'd taken such pains to master - even some he'd made himself, and turning them against him, seeking every possible way they could to humiliate him, to show him there was no place for him in this world. They'd ambushed him, time and time again, somehow knowing exactly where he was at any given time, despite every precaution he took, exactly what they could get away with, and when to get away.

They'd tortured him, turning his waking moments into nightmares, filling every moment he was outside of Slytherin into one filled with anxiety over when they would strike, what terrible new spells they'd use against him, and how they'd seek to break him.

About the only thing those marauders considered off limits were the Cruciatus, and other "dark" spells, but the truth was that one didn't have to be a practitioner of the Dark Arts to enjoy hurting someone.

They armed themselves with the thought that since he resisted their good fun, he was probably a Dark Wizard in the making, especially once they'd learned of his extensive knowledge of curses firsthand. After that, they'd considered it their _duty_ to hunt him, to try and break him utterly, doing everything they could to drive him out of Hogwarts short of taking his life, refraining from that last not because of some inclination to mercy, but because one of his tormentors realized that cold-blooded murder was probably the one thing they wouldn't be able to hide or talk their way out of!

Sometimes, Severus wished that James Potter _hadn't_ had his little…epiphany, that the other boy had simply let him die at the teeth and claws of Remus Lupin. Yes, it would likely have been an excruciating way to go, but at the same time, it would also have been an end to his suffering, while James Potter and his ilk would finally be unmasked as monsters far worse than the Dark Wizards they claimed to hate, and possibly imprisoned in Azkaban for life.

Or perhaps, if was truly lucky, they'd be given the Dementor's Kiss.

Alas, Severus' life had been spared, and his tormentors had kept their freedom. Only, that hadn't been the end of their scheming, as they'd soon hit upon something far worse than even the plot to kill him, something that Snape found utterly _unforgivable_.

Seeing that Severus wouldn't be driven away from Hogwarts by his gang's unrelenting attacks, James Potter had taken another tack, turning his attentions to Lily. The athletic, handsome Potter had flirted with her, whispered lies into her ear about his obsession with the Dark, repeating them often enough that he planted a seed of doubt in her mind. He told her that Snivellus' didn't care about her, that all he cared about was the Dark Arts, that there was no place for a friendship between a _Slytherin_ and a Muggleborn witch, that he was only using her.

That one seed was all that it had taken for everything to fall apart.

After yet another session of public humiliation at the hands of the Marauders, another of their ambushes, another where those cackling beasts in human shape paraded their victim in front of any onlookers without him being able to do _anything -_ a session from which Lily had saved him yet _again_ , Severus had snapped. Upset at the Marauders, at his helpless, at how her intervention just showed off how weak he was, he'd said that didn't want - or need - help from a 'Mudblood' in reply to one of James Potter's taunts about how incapable he was.

It hadn't been intentional. A slip of the tongue in a moment of anger, made all the easier by how so many in Slytherin used the term to refer to Muggleborn witches and wizards, and one he'd never have made if he hadn't been consumed by rage, shame, and wounded pride. Still, he'd done it nonetheless, and in the process, had fallen right into the trap the cruel Gryffindor had set.

' _Didn't you see_ ,' their words must have echoed in Lily's head. ' _T_ _hat's how he thought of you all along_. _A **mudblood**_.'

' _You're his friend, right - his best friend, so he says. So why would he call you that, unless that was what he really thought?_ _There's no way that was an innocent slip.'_

' _He's a monster_ _who only cares about himself,'_ they had likely told her, when that was more true of them than he. ' _A Dark Wizard. A monster in the making._ _You would be far better off without him.'_

So his tormentors had said, and she'd listened.

He'd begged for her forgiveness, tried to explain that it was an accident, but Lily...hadn't understood, asking him instead if he intended to join the Death Eaters. Not seeing what that had had to do with anything, and not wishing to destroy what little social standing he'd managed to acquire in Slytherin, he'd said nothing, and Lily, apparently seeing his silence as answer enough, had walked out of his life.

She had been the one person who had always believed in him, who had always told him he could be more than what he was, who had always stood up for him, who had ever given a _damn_ about him, and she had turned against him, poisoned by the words of his tormentors.

In taking Lily away, the monsters had won at last, as her betrayal destroyed the foundations of everything he'd believed to be true, torn away every bit of hope he'd dared to let himself feel, broken his faith in the magical world in a way that no one could ever hope to fix. Years later, Snape would look back on that moment and realize it was _then_ that he decided to commit himself to Voldemort's cause, placing his wand arm and his considerable talents at the Dark Lord's disposal both because he had nothing else to live for, and because the Dark Lord promised that that the old order of things would be overthrown, and that out of its ashes, there would be a new world.

As a Death Eater, he'd had a purpose at last, and a family of sorts, a group of people who didn't look down him for his knowledge of the Dark Arts, who didn't consider him a monster for defending himself against the true monsters out there. They appreciated his talents and ambitions, considered him one of their own, a comrade, a brother-in-arms, a companion in their quest to tear down a corrupt world and remake it in their image. Snape, after so much loneliness and pain, found all this wonderful beyond compare, especially coupled with the thought that at last, he'd be able to wreak a bloody vengeance on all those who had wronged him.

For if Potter and his friends were so determined to make him in a monster, then a monster _he would become._

He'd done his share of killing, of torture, of destruction while wearing the cloak and mask of his newfound brotherhood, as was only necessary in time of war. And though the Ministry tried its best to fight back, as did Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, the efforts of the corrupt regime and the broken society it was built on hadn't been enough against the courage and dedication of the Death Eaters. After a decade of war, the Dark Lord and his loyal followed had been on the brink of absolute victory in Britain, a victory that would destroy the old order and show those who would make innocents into monsters that enough was enough – that if a man was pushed too far, then the hunter would become the hunted, the predator, prey.

In the new Britain that would have risen from the old, Severus would have been part of the new ruling class, given a place of honor for his valor and courage…and yet he'd thrown away his chance for greatness, thrown away his chance to become someone for the sake of the woman who had once been his only friend.

It was for her sake, for the sake of the one who had meant so much to him, that he had betrayed his Master and his cause, turning in secret to Albus Dumbledore, the powerful leader of the Order of the Phoenix, who'd stood for every excess of the old regime - and yet was his best chance of keeping Lily safe. Selling out his comrades and compatriots, he'd asked only that old man hide Lily from his Master, because he felt that she was only a victim in all this.

Because he had never wanted her to come to harm, no matter how much she had hurt him, time and time again.

Yet despite his sacrifice, despite his warnings and pleas, despite everything he'd done to try and ensure her safety, in the end, it had all been for naught.

On October 31, 1981, Lily had died when the Dark Lord attacked the safehouse at Godric's Hollow, perishing alongside her husband...and the Dark Lord himself. In a single moment, Snape had lost both the woman who meant more to him than his life and the Master who'd promised him a better world, a Master he'd betrayed. His only consolation was that his worst enemy had died as well, but Severus had taken little joy in James Potter's death.

How could he, when the price for it had been the one person who had ever cared about him, _and_ his one chance to become more than the outcast he'd always been? Perhaps, if Voldemort had lived instead of Harry Potter, had survived the encounter with his enemies dead at his feet, things might have been different, because at least then Snape would have a purpose.

As it was though, there was no future left for him, and so, while most of Britain rejoiced at the fact that "You-Know-Who" was finally dead and gone, that the war was finally over, Snape mourned.

For him, there was no triumph to be savored, no joy to be had.

Just another defeat in a long string of losses, each more hollow and bitter than the last.

' _I still wonder, even now, if I should have just ended it all that night…'_

It would have been easy to end things there and then. So very easy.

Sometimes, he still thought he should have done just that, if only so that the world would be spared a monster without a purpose, a man who seemed destined to ruin everything he touched. But Dumbledore had asked him to live on, and so Severus Snape had done just that, as he'd grown used to taking direction from others at this point.

Truthfully, Snape didn't understand why it had to be _him_ who protected Lily's son. It was a duty he would undertake – even if he didn't deserve to, even if it reminded him every day and every moment of the mistakes he'd made and the people he'd wronged - but surely, there were others better suited to the task? Surely there wasn't anything he could do that couldn't be done by one of Dumbledore's other allies, by someone who wasn't reviled for his past as a Death Eater?

Still, there was nothing for it, and so Snape had resigned himself to being Dumbledore's instrument, just as he'd been the Dark Lord's. It was better that way, he thought, as he'd proven to everyone – and to himself, most of all – that he couldn't be trusted to make any sort of major decision on his own, because he'd always find a way to screw things up.

So he'd served, and served faithfully for many, many years, though each year he would _also_ put in an application for the inevitable Defense against the Dark Arts vacancy at Hogwarts, in the hope that Dumbledore might accept, freeing him once he'd outlived his usefulness, though that day had never come.

Snape had become youngest ever Head of House at Hogwarts, a fact which inspired no small amount of resentment from colleagues who felt he didn't know his place, he'd tried his best to keep up the morale of his students while curbing the worst of their excesses, knowing the…reputation that Slytherin House had developed after the War. He'd been one himself, after all, had seen why so many joined the Dark Lord and turned to less than legal ways of doing things: because they felt the very world was already against them. Of course, he was perhaps less than perfect at his job, and certainly less well-regarded than Slughorn had been, but that was to be expected, as Severus Snape had never really been a people person, and his teenage years weren't something he wanted to revisit.

Even vicariously.

As a spy and advisor, he'd kept in touch with his old comrades, a task made awkward by his keen awareness that he'd betrayed them and essentially murdered their Lord. He'd kept tabs on people like Lucius Malfoy, kept watch for any trace of Voldemort's return, the silent sentinel against the Dark.

As a teacher, he'd taught potions to year after year of dunderheads who preferred waving a wand and muttering incantations to the subtle science of brewing. A few proved competent enough, but it hadn't been until a few years ago that he'd found someone truly _gifted,_ in the art of potions, someone who was unafraid to look past the printed instructions and try something new.

Someone who was driven to succeed, just as he had been, who had seen monsters and was determined not to become one.

Had Sialim Sokaris lived…

'… _there's no point to thinking about such things. The past is the past, and there is no changing it.'_

In the here and now, Dumbledore was dead, and Lily…Lily hated him. He'd held out hope for a long time that perhaps by living, by doing his duty, he could atone for the things he had done, win the forgiveness of those he had wronged, but when he'd summoned Lily's shade with the Resurrection Stone just to see her face one last time, she'd told him just how wrong he'd been, showed him _exactly_ what she thought he was.

A monster.

The girl who had once seen the good in a young Severus Snape was long gone, the girl who had once been his friend long dead. The girl who'd been _Lily Evans_ was no more, with _Lily Potter_ taking her place. In every way, she was _James Potter's wife_. A woman who hated him. A woman who despised his choices. A woman who had seen the depths of his devotion and everything he'd done to try and save her, and yet had dismissed it all, preferring to see him as nothing more than an irredeemable monster.

After talking to her – and having a brief encounter with a Death that wasn't anything at all like what the stories said, in which he'd learned that there was no heaven or hell, no justice based on one's acts in life - Severus Snape had been reminded of how everything he'd done had been for naught, his attempts to atone meaningless to anyone save for himself.

Of how Britain didn't need him anymore.

Lily's son…Harry, didn't need an old monster to watch over him, given his rank and the comrades-in-arms he'd gathered. A group quite unlike those that James Potter had allied himself with, the Stone Cutters seemed a loyal bunch, if perhaps a bit reckless, though that last was likely just a consequence of being a teenager.

The Order of the Phoenix didn't need him as a spy anymore because neither the Order or the Death Eaters existed. The Order had crumbled with Dumbledore's death, and with Lucius Malfoy becoming Chief Warlock and being the second most powerful man in Britain, there was no need for the Death Eaters as an organization.

Hogwarts, with the presence of so many Aurors and its own formidable defenses, would be fine without his wand in whatever storms might come, and it wasn't as if they needed him to be Headmaster – not when they had a fine one in Filius Flitwick, the first part-goblin to hold the post – or any prestigious post in Britain, for that matter. They didn't even really need him to teach potions or watch over Slytherin anymore, given that Slughorn, who'd always been a better teacher than he, for all that the man was less naturally gifted, was only too happy to return.

And so, Snape had settled his affairs, seen to it that Britain had a Potions Champion for the upcoming competition, and, along with two other old monsters Britain no longer needed, had gone off on a suicide mission to Eastern Europe, intending to throw himself into the fight against Fenrir Greyback's army of werewolves and giants, eliminating the rising threat at the cost of his life.

Yes, he'd fully expected to die in the process, removing the Deathly Hallows from play, as he thought them too powerful for any person to use for long, and rather thought that he'd lived too long. Yet once again, he had been the one to survive where his comrades had died, awakening in the care of a mysterious organization headed by none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, History Professor at Hogwarts and so-called greatest adventurer of Britain.

A man who Snape had once thought of as a fop and a pretender, only to discover – to his shock – that the man was really one of the most dangerous people in the world, both in ability and intent, a man who did necessary evil, in the name of the greater good.

Lockhart had told him of the things that had transpired in his absence: Fenrir's raid on the Quidditch World Cup, Britain looking to make war on Bulgaria – and anyone else which stood in its way, and of his suspicion that Fenrir's behavior was motivated by another party – likely the Dark Lord.

The adventurer had even recognized who had was, and asked for his aid in keeping Europe safe while Lockhart was otherwise…unavailable (due to still having teaching duties at Hogwarts).

Snape had of course, agreed, since it was a chance to be of use – and to be honest, he'd always been more comfortable following the instructions of another.

…granted, the Master of Death was slightly uncomfortable with the fact that his new superior commanded the loyalty of an organization called the Order of Assassins, but it wasn't as if his own hands were particularly clean either.

All that had led to his moment, with Severus Snape, or Robaus Prinz, as the Slovenian identity documents he'd been issued identified him, leading a trio of Assassins to investigate the old prison-fortress of Nurmengard, at Lockhart's request.

Once, the imposing structure had been the seat of power of the Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald, a would-be revolutionary who had attempted to incite war between the magical and mundane worlds and repeal the Statute of Secrecy, as well as the prison he used to hold his captured opponents, but it had long since been abandoned after Grindelwald's death at Dumbledore's hands.

Why it hadn't been torn apart, stone torn from stone, Snape didn't know. Perhaps it remained as a warning against the dangers of those willing to compromise their morals for the sake of ideals? Perhaps it was a memorial to the cost of the war against Grindelwald, and the terrors he had unleashed upon the world? Or perhaps it was simply because the prison-fortress' defenses were still active, and quite lethal to anyone not skilled or powerful enough to deal with them.

"…what in the name of Allah is that?" the voice of one of his companions muttered from behind him. A strange wizard of Persian descent who called himself El-Ahrairah, his magic was unlike anything Snape was familiar with, as it seemed far more specialized than Severus' own, but within his sphere of influence, extremely potent. A master of the wind, El-Ahrairah needed no wand to listen across vast distances, to sense the presence of others, to conceal their words from prying ears, or to summon barriers and blades from the air itself.

"I do not know, but that fortress was not there only a week ago," his second companion replied, a grim Polish brunette by the name of Aneta Duran who'd spoken very little in the brief time Severus had known her. She had been assigned to the team as she was with the local cell of the organization, and was what the Order had dubbed one of the "gifted," though her talents were not magical in nature as far as he was aware. "How…could this building have been raised so quickly?"

"Not raised," El-Ahrairah muttered quietly. "Revealed. It was hidden by potent charms until very recently."

"Templars?" Aneta Duran whispered, her voice almost a hiss.

"The Mentor believes otherwise, but that _is_ what we are here to investigate," Snape said smoothly. The fact that a muggle was seeing Nurmengard was very concerning. "We should get closer. Be on your guard."

Yet, as they approached the towering edifice, there was nothing to stop them, or even slow them down. No spells, no magical defenses, no living statues or other such things. Nothing save a chill, lingering on the ground and in the air, one that the Master of Death found…familiar in a way, but couldn't _quite_ place.

' _Something is wrong with this place, very, very wrong.'_

It wasn't the way the shadows seemed to move by themselves, or the cold that seeped into his bones, or the creeping sensation of his every action being watched. It was the fact that the vaunted defenses of this fell place had simply ceased to be, something which should have been utterly impossible.

 _'Without outside intervention at any rate.'_

Yet if someone had come here, they were long gone, as neither Snape nor his colleagues could sense anyone else in the vicinity, even with the aid of their exotic abilities. The eerie silence had him very much on edge, expecting some sort of ambush at any moment, given that to simply walk into a dark wizard's stronghold was...unheard of.

One did not simply walk into Mordor, after all.

"…despair. Despair has walked here," Aneta whispered, shivering as her eyes seemed to flash blue in the dusk. "Despair and cold and all-consuming hunger."

There was only one sort of creature Snape knew of that matched that description: Dementors.

' _But that doesn't make sense. Why did they come from, and why would they come here, to a place where there is no one?'_

He supposed they could have been following a particularly powerful Dark Wizard, but if that was the case…then who had it been?

The rest of their investigation was much like that, with the trio going through each room of the abandoned fortress, only to find that whatever had happened here, whoever had come by earlier, they were no longer here.

Yet, why had someone else come here to begin with? What was it that a Dark Wizard would have wanted from this place, this edifice abandoned by time?

Not to use it as a place of power, surely, but then, what?

The answer came as they reached the topmost cell in the highest tower – a cell that had apparently been occupied until very recently, if the smell and ragged blanket and untouched food were any indication.

"A man," Aneta spoke, reaching her hand out towards the bunk where the prisoner had lain – and the collar that had bound him to the wall. "An old and powerful warrior. A leader of armies. Trapped in the prison he built."

 _'...Grindelwald?'_

And there was something else, a trace of something dark, and foul, and terrible.

"Another man. A wolf with two faces. Hunger. Hunger, satisfaction."

Aneta's words made the truth all too clear to Severus Snape, as he pieced together what had happened - and why Fenrir Greyback had come here.

"Albus, you old fool…" Snape said distantly, not even realizing that it was he who had spoken. "You left _him_ alive after everything he did?"

It seemed that Dumbledore's reputation as the slayer of Grindelwald had been a lie, that after defeating him, the British wizard had imprisoned his old friend in the fortress-prison Grindelwald had built himself, to reflect on his actions until the day he died, knowing that there would be no rescue, nothing to spare him endless days of solitude, as the world would believe him dead.

Only, it seemed that not everyone had been fooled.

After all, someone had led Dementors to Nurmengard, disabled the defenses, made their way to the Grindelwald's cell and spirited him away from captivity.

'… _or perhaps, it is even worse than that.'_

When Gilderoy Lockhart had last seen Voldemort, the Dark Lord had been reduced to something less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost, rendered incapable of affecting the physical world without a host of some sort.

Without access to the Philosopher's Stone to help create a new body for him, or the components of one of the blood rituals that allowed a sort of resurrection, Lockhart had wondered if the wraith of Voldemort had sought out Fenrir Greyback – the werewolf who had once served him as a weapon, using him as a temporary host until a more suitable one could be found.

Such a thing would have only been a temporary measure though, Snape had reasoned, given that Voldemort was no great admirer of werewolves, even if he was willing to use them for his purposes, and Fenrir Greyback hardly had enough magical might to suit his purposes.

The Dark Lord would need a more permanent solution if he hoped to truly return in glory, as he would – Voldemort, if nothing else, was somewhat prideful, in rather the same way the ocean was moist – and there were few enough individuals who both could be easily subdued, and would have enough in the way of capacity for Voldemort to regain anything close to his original abilities.

Indeed, all of Europe, there was perhaps only one wizard living who was about as powerful as the Dark Lord, and who, in being bound by restraints which had kept him from using his formidable magic, would be unable to fight back as the Dementors sucked out his spirit leaving a powerful, soulless husk for Voldemort's shade to possess.

The former master of Nurmengard, and its last prisoner: Gellert Grindelwald.

* * *

In the office in the back of _Gregorovitch Zauberstäbe,_ the workshop – and former wand shop – of Mykew Gregorovitch, the famous wandmaker was seated at his desk, facing a certain Marten Vilijn, a tall Dutchman who had come to take delivery of an order of wands commissioned by one of his colleagues, a Greek man by the name of Anton Khert.

On the face of it, this might seem an unusual state of affairs, given that it was common knowledge that Gregorovitch had retired from the business of constructing wands after long and distinguished career as one of Europe's premier wandmakers, but in truth, he'd simply ceased producing premade wands for the masses. Instead, the old man had filled his schedule with commissions from a clientele which demanded – and was willing to pay the price for – both quality and discretion.

"I trust you have completed my colleague's order, Herr Gregorovitch?" the Dutchman inquired quietly, his eyes taking in the austere nature of the office. "It would be most…disappointing, to have travelled all this way to find that it was not."

In response, the wandmaker retrieved a case from the floor and placed it on the desk, opening the lid to reveal a set of thirty wands, each of slightly different lengths, but otherwise identical in form.

"Thirty wands of blackthorn and…horn, as requested by Herr Khert," the wandmaker said simply, bidding Vilijn to inspect the finished goods. "It is not common that I receive such an interesting commission."

It was rare indeed that he was asked to create multiple wands for a client, and rarer still that the client supplied the material for wand cores for such an order, but Herr Khert had insisted on nearly identical wands, with all of the cores to be derived from a single, rather massive horn on whose origin he refused to comment.

In his time as a wandmaker, Mykew Gregorovitch had worked with quite a few types of material, from heartstrings to hairs, from bone to feather to coral, but to his surprise, he didn't recognize the specimen that he'd been provided. At first, he thought it might have come from a dragon, but it didn't seem curved enough for that, and in any case, no dragon in the world was large enough to have made such a thing. Which suggested that it was some other giant reptile, but the only reptile of a size large enough to be the source of such a horn would have been…

' _A basilisk. With the horn freshly removed from its head…'_

That alone had suggested some very interesting things about the skill and nature of Herr Khert, but Gregorovitch hadn't bothered to follow up, as he'd learned that doing so could be quite dangerous to both his health and his pocketbook.

And then there was Herr Khert's implied knowledge of the secrets of wandlore – or at least the portion of it dealing with the brother wand effect.

' _Thirty wands with basilisk horn cores, largely identical.'_

The devastation such wands could wreak, if used against a common enemy, was nothing short of terrifying – and Gregorovitch suspected that his client had known that…just as his client would have known that the expert wandmaker would realize the nature of his commission.

"Why Blackthorn?" Herr Vilijn was inquiring, as the lanky Dutchman ran his fingers across the somewhat jagged edge of one of the wands. "A most unusual choice of wand wood, isn't it?"

"Perhaps, but it is the one that best suited Herr Kherst's needs," Gregorovitch replied evenly.

Blackthorn wands had a particular reputation of being best-suited for a warrior, with a tremendous capacity for the Dark Arts and other forms of martial magic – but also only being loosely bonded to an owner until they went through danger or hardship together (which they would soon enough, if they were part of an army preparing for war).

"Mm," Herr Vilijn noted, closing the case. "The craftsmanship is quite satisfactory."

Leaning back from the case, the Dutchman reached into his long coat, withdrawing three vials of green liquid and placing them on the desk, each accompanied by a slip of parchment bearing the signature and seal of an apothecary known to the wandmaker, who had certified the contents as being…

Gregorovitch swallowed.

"I believe a pint of basilisk venom will be more than enough to cover the cost of the wands?" the client asked, with the wandmaker only nodding slowly.

Basilisk horn…and basilisk venom.

Had they slain such a beast? Or perhaps…

No, no. The alternative was rather too dreadful to consider.

"Yes," Gregorovitch croaked, reaching out his hand to take possession of the vials. "More than enough."

Especially as this was only the second half of the payment for this order, with Herr Khert having paid him the first when they'd come to an agreement.

But as his fingers touched the vial, the wandmaker found Herr Vilijn's fingers on his wrist.

"Too much, you say?" the Dutchman inquired coolly, his eyes seeming to go from blue to red for a moment as his gaze held the crafter fast. "Well, seeing as there is no easy to make change for such…goods, perhaps you could craft me a wand to make up the difference?"

Gregorovitch nodded, and was relieved when his client released him, allowing him to claim the vials at last, and lock them away in his desk.

"The wand…it is for you?" Gregorovitch asked warily, hoping that it was so, so he could get this whole affair over with.

"No, for another…associate of mine," Herr Vilijn replied, removing another vial from his coat – this one full of blood. "I do not have ingredients with me, but I will trust your judgement."

' _And my discretion…'_ the wandmaker thought, but nodded, rising to his feet and retrieving a small silver bowl with runes engraved all about the sides.

"Add the user's blood to the bowl, if you would," he instructed, as the Dutchman did so, pouring the contents of the vial within. For a few seconds, nothing seemed to happen, but soon enough, the runes began to glow, with the crimson liquid parting unnaturally to reveal the bottom of the bowl in two lines like the hands of a clock. "If you would get the door, Herr Vilijn?"

The Dutchman did so, following the wandmaker as he headed to the storage room where he kept the supplies he needed for custom wands, bringing the bowl with him, as it would point him to the items he needed.

He touched a number of pieces, but didn't seem satisfied until he reached a box labelled 'Aspen,' within which were several well-preserved boughs.

"Hmm…Aspen, is it? Then this is a wand for a duelist, or at least, one particularly suited to martial magic," Gregorovitch muttered, bringing the bowl with him as he opened the box, sorting through it with one hand until he picked out a fine-grained piece that looked like ivory and the bowl flared brightly. "Strong minded, determined. Attracted to quests and new orders." _'A wand…for a revolutionary.'_

The wandmaker shook his head as he handed the length of wood to Herr Vilijin, and moved on to the area of the room containing possible cores, frowning as he saw where the "hands" of the bowl were pointing.

He walked past a crate containing unicorn hair, a bowl full of pieces of coral, a small case containing thestral hair, and other increasingly more exotic cores, before he stopped at last in front of a glass container, kept well away from all the others, a container in which floated a black, fluid-like cloud that seemed to violently roil about, as if trying to burst free.

"No…" Gregorovitch whispered, his eyes widening in shock. " _This? This_ is to be the core? _"_

It was easy to understand why he was…somewhat distraught, given that within the container was an Obscurus, a dark, parasitic "creature" of pure magic created when a magical child was forced to repress their talent through terrible abuse.

In a way, it could be seen as the dark mirror of a Patronus, for where the ultimate protective charm was a wizard conjuring forth a guardian wrought of his magic and his most positive emotions, an Obscurus was magic that was never allowed release, and so festered, corrupted by a young wizard's most negative emotions, until it exploded outwards as a force of violent, destructive, fury. In extreme cases, a child might even transform entirely into an Obscurus, losing himself or herself entirely and becoming a living curse…

The young girl who had become this particular Obscurus had been a victim of the worst excesses of the Second World War, and after experiencing too much for any mind to bear, had snapped, giving herself over to the darkness within her in an attempt to destroy all those who had tormented her.

…which she had, though the spirit of devastation she'd become had not spared any in her path, continuing to rampage until an entire village had been destroyed in the process. When she'd died sometime later, someone had apparently preserved what was left of her in a magical field, though how the Obscurus had come to be floating in a jar in Gregorovitch's workshop, no one knew.

"…I have never seen the like of this before," the Dutchman murmured almost reverently from behind the wandmaker. "It is…magnificent, if tragic. So much…power."

Such worlds could have spoken by Grindelwald himself, and not for the first time, Gregorovitch wondered exactly who his client was.

' _No…I'm not being paid to ask questions…'_

"A wand of aspen, with a living core," Gregorovitch whispered. "Revolution, paired with a force of utter devastation…"

Such a wand would surely be one of the greatest – and most dangerous – creations he had ever had the privilege to work on, for in the right hands, such a wand could shake the very order of the wizarding world.

For a long, long moment, the wandmaker was tempted to refuse after all, or at least to pick out another wand core, but…he did not, for that would have been a betrayal of his client and his craft.

"It will be a wand capable for great and terrible things, yet a wand capable of utterly destroying the wielder, should he or she prove unworthy," Gregorovitch intoned. "Are you sure this is what your associate would want, Herr Vilijin?"

"Indeed."

"…then so be it, and may Death have mercy on my soul. Whatever happens with this wand, I do not wish to know. Do we understand each other?"

"Perfectly."


	45. Brother Against Brother

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 45.** _Brother against Brother_

As he and his team waited to enter the field for his first-ever round of Capture the Flag at Durmstrang, Ron Weasley found himself ill at ease as he considered who he was about to face in battle: his brother Fred, a Stone Cutter and member of the Order of Merlin, whose shadow the younger Weasley boy had never been able to escape.

' _I can do this. I_ can _do this…'_ he told himself, trying to psych himself up as he looked upon the members of his team, a varied bunch from all three schools, built around a core of three Ourea-trained individuals: himself, Su Li, and Draco Malfoy, the last of which had trained under Luna Lovegood herself and had willingly shared what he had learned.

The redhead chuckled to himself, remembering that there was a time when he would have rejected anything the Malfoy scion offered him on principle, as he'd once seen the pureblooded Slytherin as a symbol of everything that was wrong with Britain.

But Draco had changed after the summer – and more to the point, so had _he_.

In the moments Ron was honest with himself, he would admit that neither of them had been particularly good people in the past. They'd both been bigoted in their own way, brought up with certain biases and prejudices which they'd more or less accepted as truth, letting those color every one of their interactions over the past few years, until the world had forced them to confront their beliefs and sort out what was real and what was merely make-believe.

For Ron, that long and painful process had begun the year before, when Matou Shinji had _saved his life,_ utterly destroying a full-grown Acromantula in the process. Until that moment, the young Gryffindor had assumed that the Japanese boy's supposed feats and achievements were largely exaggerations, that the obvious Dark Wizard was merely an opportunist who had been in the right place at the right time, and had milked his connections to get to where he was today.

But then, the person he'd assumed Matou Shinji to be would never have gone out of his way to save the life of one Ronald Weasley, especially not when he'd let the Easterner know exactly what he'd thought of him in the past, often in the rudest terms possible.

' _Nor would he have given me a chance to join the Ourea, to make something of myself and step out of the shadow of my brothers,'_ the redhead mused, remembering both his Kobayashi Maru exercise and the aftermath, in which he'd stood before the Ourea at large and had been accepted as one of them. _'I never expected any of that, but here I am. I owe him a debt, one he has never asked me to repay, but which I will, nonetheless.'_

It was the least he could do for the one who had magnanimously offered him an opportunity to become more than what he was, to rise to become a member of the Ourea in his own right.

Ron had only enjoyed the privileges of his new-found rank for two months at Hogwarts, but he'd made the most of it.

In those two months, he'd served as the acting Consul of his class, as Longbottom had died in the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup and Dunbar had been rather distraught by his death. He, like the other Ourea members going to Durmstrang, had been singled out for intensive training in what Lockhart termed unconventional tactics, learning how to fight against superior numbers, to make effective use of terrain and misdirection, and to neutralize the capabilities of more powerful or capable wizards by removing their ability to speak or move.

He'd even had the chance to leverage his inclination towards grand strategy in _Insurgency,_ a simulated war game, which had pit the Ourea, as a rebel force called the Knights of Hexennacht, against the Consuls, who represented the Ministry of a fictional magical nation called Freedonia.

Unlike chess, where both sides had the same number of pieces and the same objectives, _Insurgency_ featured asymmetrical gameplay, with the Ministry of Freedonia (and their substantial forces) tasked with crushing the Knights and capturing their ringleader (Pansy Parkinson, for the purposes of the scenario), while the Knights focused on accomplishing objectives that would lower the Ministry's morale and public approval rating (thus leading to its collapse), while not crippling their own.

In addition to copies of themselves and their abilities, both factions had been given three opportunities to call on a single "Stone Cutter" ally for assistance, with each having different strengths and weaknesses.

Potter gave whichever side he was on a substantial morale and combat effectiveness boost, though involving him was a risk, as he also drew the attention of all units on the field, and any unit "killed" in the game could never be used again.

Fred was a powerful frontline combatant, with his use of Transfiguration being a powerful ability, though he was less useful in stealth or reconnaissance missions.

George was a stealth specialist who made use of runes, and was in general, unmatched at reconnaissance or infiltration missions, but not very useful in more direct combat scenarios.

Matou, with his Eastern Arts and propensity for explosions, was a powerful multiplier to combat effectiveness, capable of disabling large groups of weaker enemies or single powerful opponents, though he, like Potter, also attracted much attention from all enemy units.

And Lovegood…Lovegood was scary.

'… _but then, a stealth unit capable of wiping out any force who opposes her in a single, overwhelming strike is beyond overpowered, balanced only by the fact that calling for her aid can result in a massive penalty to public approval rating, given the brutality of her attacks and the collateral damage she can cause…'_

One could hardly convince a populace one was fighting on the side of justice if one happened to raze the local equivalent of Diagon Alley to the ground, or if one lured an entire squad of Auror equivalents out to a village and ambushed them, slaughtering them to a man.

It had been an interesting game, one that Ron has appreciated for its strategic depth and the lessons it taught about war, though he'd been a bit unsettled when Lockhart had explained that what they'd played had been essentially a recreation of the Wizarding War, with the Ourea cast as the Death Eaters, once styled the Knights of Walpurgis.

And that sometimes, the line between good and evil was not quite as clear cut as one might believe.

The best part of being part of the Ourea though, hadn't been the training, or the prestige, or the privileges that came with being a member of the elite group. It had been meeting and coming to know Su Li, the lovely young Ravenclaw whose wit and courage had shown him that not all members of that house were either bookish and reclusive (as the common stereotype went), or strange and terrifying, like Lovegood and Matou.

Beyond the wicked sense of humor and the passion with which she threw herself into everything in she did, something which frankly amazed him, given how it was sometimes hard for him to find motivation for things, what touched him most was her intuition and concern for his well-being. She seemed to be able to read his moods and desires as if he were an open book, something which surprisingly didn't bother him, given Ginny had employed that very ability to tease him – or nag him – for years.

' _It's probably because she doesn't nag.'_

She didn't ask him to study harder, to practice his dueling, to work on scenarios or other Ourea-related business, didn't demand that he work on learning to cook or brew potions or other such things. She simply let him know that _she_ would be working on improving herself, inviting him to join her if he wished.

Not actually being the dunderhead that Snape had once accused him of being, the boy had agreed, as he enjoyed being around her.

…especially in the wake of what happened at the Quidditch World Cup, since the Ourea clubroom – and being around her – provided an island of calm in a world that was barking.

She listened. She was good at that, really, with a way of making him feel like he was her priority, whatever else she was working on at the time. She made him feel that despite whatever might be going on in the world, things would be ok…and it certainly didn't hurt that she seemed to enjoy his company, though whether she laughed more at him or with him was still up for debate.

When he'd come to Durmstrang Institute, the school which idolized the dark arts and churned out Dark Wizards, as his Mum had once said, alongside all fourth through sixth years from Hogwarts, he'd been more than a little afraid, especially when he saw the might of the Host spread before him.

An entire school, trained in the art of war, in numbers enough to crush Britain utterly if they ever chose to invade.

But, thanks to Lockhart's influence – and Su's – Ron had decided to give the school a chance, since he'd learned by now that many things had been lumped under the category of Dark Arts which might not necessarily belong.

Fred though…he hadn't at all, something which had made things difficult for Ron in the days after the ambush on Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour at the hands of…Hufflepuffs?

' _I didn't think Hufflepuffs could…'_

But they had, and the Bulgarian seeker and French Veela had both nearly been killed, save for a last-second intervention, allegedly by Commander Terum of the Banner of the Wolf, which had disabled – or killed – all of their assailants.

Were it not for his training as part of the Ourea, Ron thought he might have felt horrified by the brutality of it all, much like his peers, but frankly, he'd thought the Hufflepuffs had deserved it, especially if they attacked someone with the odds overwhelmingly in their favor and still _lost._

In the aftermath, Fred had insisted to anyone who would listen – and there were plenty of those among the Hogwarts contingent, since he was a Stone Cutter – that Krum and Delacour must have attacked first, that there was no way innocent Hufflepuffs would conspire to murder someone.

Ron hadn't been so sure, having seen the viciousness his fellow students – well no, even he – was capable of under the right conditions. George – and Matou – apparently agreed with him, and had not been subtle at all about their displeasure, with George vocally condemning the assailants and declaring that his sympathies rested with Delacour and Krum, while Matou had let his actions speak for him by volunteering to be the Veela's bodyguard.

The Boy-Who-Lived had said nothing, and without his word on the matter, the Hogwarts contingent had quickly become divided, with one camp – including most of those that had been sorted into the Banner of the Wolf – aligning with Fred, and another aligning with George and Matou, though many students had been caught in the middle, not sure _what_ to believe.

One good thing had come out of the incident though: a friendship of sorts with Draco Malfoy.

' _If someone told me years ago that I'd be good mates with Draco bloody Malfoy, I would have thought he was barking.'_

But in a world that had gone mad, the Minister's son was one of the sane ones. Ginny had told him that, said that Malfoy really wasn't as bad as people made him out to be, and that he'd changed while working at St. Mungo's. Ron hadn't been sure if he believed her, and really hadn't been sure he liked the smile that came across her face when she mentioned him, but…in the wake of the incident, it had proven to be true.

Draco but had made a point of seeking out – and spending time with – Ron Weasley and Su Li – the members of the Ourea who had chosen to join the Banner of the Wolf, with his position as the Minister's son lending a quiet legitimacy to those which didn't agree with Fred's denunciation of Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and the corruption of the Continent.

After apologizing to Su Li for being a right arse the year before, something which had surprised the girl herself to no end, and to Ron for being a bloody git more often than not, Malfoy had asked if they would mind if he joined them.

When Ron had asked why, the boy had admitted that he missed having peers. People who could think for themselves, who could make up their own bloody minds about things and not follow on his every word. People around who he could be simply Draco, and not the Minister's son.

People like those in the Ourea – or like Lovegood, who he'd been training under these last few months.

Both he and Su had been certain that Malfoy's casual revelation had been anything but, since the Slytherin had to know the impact of claiming the patronage of a Stone Cutter. If it were true…

Su had asked Draco to prove his claim, asking him to demonstrate something he'd learned from Lovegood – something no one else their year would be able to do.

And the boy had, baring his arm, cutting a deep gash into it – and healing the wound perfectly with a hand glowing with golden light.

"I'm willing to share what I know," Draco had offered simply.

Ron and Su, after glancing at each other, had agreed, welcoming him to their little splinter of the Ourea.

' _I never thought I'd enjoy being on the same side as Draco Malfoy, but…the fact that he's my co-captain reassures me as I prepare to fight my brother.'_

Who better to help fight a Stone Cutter than one who'd been trained by one, after all?

And Ron would take every scrap of reassurance he could get, every security, every possible advantage, because in his heart, there was nothing and no one he feared so much as Fred.

Oh, he'd feared Sirius Black, as one would fear any lunatic murderer, feared failing in the _No Win Scenario_ of the Ourea – and missing his one opportunity for self-improvement, feared Matou Shinji's dark powers and rage – as any prudent wizard would, and of course, feared Acromantulae, given how they preyed on young wizards.

But it was Fred who scared him most.

Fred, after all, had always been bigger and stronger and more magically gifted. Fred had a vengeful streak as wide as the Thames – always had, really. Fred…had taught him what it was to be afraid, long ago, as _Fred_ had been the one to turn his teddy bear into a giant spider when he was only three.

Still, he told himself, this _wasn't_ an actual battle.

This was a game of Capture the Flag, a game with certain rules and conditions – a game he had learned and played and excelled at – and which his brother was new to. Yes, he could try and fight Fred, but that would be an exercise in futility, especially with Fred's team there.

No.

All he and his team had to do was hold out long enough to claim the enemy team's flag.

As long as they played well and stuck to what they knew they could do, they could _win_.

* * *

"Don't think of this as a game, my friends, because it's not," Fred intoned, walking back and forth before his team in the moments before they took the field. "It's war."

Loyal Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors all, they – like him – believed that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were treacherous and conniving, and that the only language Dark Wizards understood was fear. After all, Krum and Delacour, despite the hospitality – and poor hospitality at that – of Durmstrang, had chosen to attack innocent people from Hogwarts, killing many and wounding many others, before the brave Hufflepuffs had rallied and fought back.

Yet for all that, Krum and Delacour had been called _victims_ , with their proper victims called scum. Britain had quietly welcomed home its wounded as heroes, but the Ministry had not sought justice in any way, shape or form, which he thought was madness.

One could not simply allow such injustice to go unpunished, could not let an enemy think they had gotten away with such crimes, lest it embolden them to act again and again. Certainly Delacour had, wanton slag that she was, seducing anyone her lust demanded, including weak-minded Matou, who had no doubt fallen over himself to pleasure her.

The Ravenclaw _did_ have a weakness for exotic women, after all – his attraction to Sokaris, and then Lovegood, proved that much.

Krum had been more cautious, but he knew that Champion was somehow behind the extra duties that Fred and his faction had received, the degrading work details they had been assigned to, in an attempt to break their spirits and crush their resistance.

But Fred would not give in, would not give Krum the satisfaction of seeing him _kneel_.

' _I am a Stone Cutter. I fight Dark Wizards. I don't bow before them, as Matou seems all too happy to do – and George, since they bribed him with a Champion's spot. But then, maybe they had a slag for_ him _too, since he was all over that Kohaku girl back in_ Mahoutokoro.'

"What we seek today isn't victory in a game," he continued, for the benefit of those less experienced than he was, those not quite as angry or driven. "Winning on points, outplaying our opponents, that's not enough – and that's not what we're here for." The youth smiled, his expression fierce and predatory in the dim light. "We are here to establish a reputation for ourselves. To demonstrate that we can – and will – annihilate anyone who opposes us, smashing them in a victory so crushing no one will even think of challenging us ever again."

He could see them nodding, each of them believing the truth of his words – all except one.

"Yes, Perkins, what is it?"

"Sir, isn't...aren't the captains of the other team your brother and the Minster's son?" the Hufflepuff asked uncertainly. "Wouldn't that—"

"Who they are irrelevant," Fred said curtly, cutting his subordinate off. Now was not the time for hesitation. If he stayed his hand in _his very first match_ , no one would respect him as a force to be reckoned with. "What matters is they have chosen to oppose us, and so they must be destroyed as a viable force."

He glared at Perkins, almost daring the Hufflepuff to challenge him, but the other, wisely, stayed silent.

"I will give them a demonstration of my power, and then offer them a chance," he continued. "Surrender and be spared, or resist, and be obliterated. The weak seek to play their games and be protected by their rules, but rules are meaningless in a test of strength."

It might seem harsh, but that was the reality of war, something that Ronald Weasley had never learned, even while the boy played at being a battle-wizard. Perhaps wee Ronnikins believed his skill at chess, or that his experience with Lockhart's games would translate to prowess on the battlefield, but it didn't, whatever delusions joining the Ourea might have filled his head with

Ron was nothing more than a boy who needed to learn his place, to be shown that in a true fight, he was _nothing_.

That was the only mercy Fred could give him – the only mercy that might allow his brother to live instead of throwing away his wretched life in some pointless crusade.

' _You have chosen to oppose me, brother. And so I will crush you, as you so richly deserve, because this is_ no game _."_

* * *

Stepping out onto a field of hills, ravines, spires and crags, with a base on other end on which fluttered two great flags of red and blue, Ronald Weasley felt at home, as he and his team – clad all in blue – took their places, with a single figure in red striding visible on the other end.

' _Where's the rest of his team?'_ Ron wondered, right before the whistle blew and the world seemed to tear itself apart in a blast of sound and fury as dozens upon dozens of transfigured drakes leapt into the air and rushed at them.

"Stop those summons!" Ron barked out, levelling his wand as he cast _Bombarda_ and _Verdimillious Tria_ over and over, trying to thin the ranks of the drakes.

But it did no good.

Despite his best efforts to resist, they were upon him in seconds, shrieking as they tore at him with fang and claw.

' _No. It can't end like this…no…'_

" _ **Confringo!**_ _"_ a cold voice spoke from across the field, with everything going white as Ronald felt more than saw his body being tossed into the air by a great explosion, before crashing hard into the ground, his wand tossed from his hand by the force of impact.

' _I have to get up…I have to get up…'_

He tried to stand, but faltered, crying out as a sharp, searing pain shot through what had to be a broken leg.

"Do you see now that it is pointless to resist?" Fred's cold voice intoned from the distance. "Look around you, Ronald. Look upon those you rallied to your cause, those who believed in your skill and your talent. Those who believed you could lead them to victory." The Stone Cutter chuckled, a cruel sound that carried well in the aftermath of his assault. "Go on, I can spare you a moment to take in the extent of your failure."

Not wanting to listen to anything Fred said, but knowing he had a responsibility to his team, Ron Weasley looked around and saw that to a person, they were laying on the ground, their forms bent and twisted, though – thank Merlin, they were still breathing.

Some were even trying to get up, despite the pain and terror they must be feeling, despite the futility of it.

"Do you see now, Ronald? Victory is beyond you – no, has _always_ been beyond you," Fred declared, as Ron grit his teeth and forced himself upward, ignoring the pain which surged through him with every motion he took, ignoring the way that darkness swam at the edge of his vision. "Why get up? Why keep on fighting?"

Fred's words goaded him on, burned him, stabbed him as his brother's words had always done. For years he had lived in Fred's shadow. For years he had fought with everything he could to be recognized in some way, and now that he'd gotten something…he wasn't about to give it up.

With a roar, Ron rose to his feet, raising his head to face the monster who called himself his brother.

"You must be able to see it, Ronald," the other's words continued unceasingly. "You must know it by now. You _can't win_. But I am not without mercy…" The other strode confidently across the distance towards the middle of the field, his wand pointed at Ron's chest. "Forfeit and you will be spared. Resist, and I cannot guarantee your safety – or that of your team. Choose wisely, brother of mine."

' _Can't guarantee my safety?'_

Ron grit his teeth at the absurdity of it, sparing a glance for where Su Li lay unconscious, her head bleeding profusely from where it had hit a patch of particularly icy ground.

' _Can't guarantee the safety of my team?'_

What guarantee did he have of safety, even if he forfeited? What guarantee did he have that Fred wouldn't indulge in the cruelties the Hufflepuffs almost had – especially when, save for the core of him, Draco, and Su, the rest came from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons?

Ronald Weasley had run away enough, been a coward enough times for an entire lifetime. If he broke now, surrendered not to a Dark Wizard or giant or some other implacable foe, but his _brother,_ he would never escape the shadow of fear.

"What is your answer, brother of mine?" Fred's voice called out, harsh and demanding.

Ron's answer was a wordless _Accio,_ as the boy summoned his wand to his hand and leveled it at his brother _._

" _Reducto!_ " he snarled, his reply punctuated with a brilliant beam of azure light, that sadly, was batted aside contemptuously by his opponent.

"You will not bow, Ronald?" Fred called out. "Then you will break."

With a wave, the Stone Cutter scattered strips of paper into the air from his sleeves, transforming them into a horde of giant spiders that swarmed towards Ron Weasley, their pincers click-clicking and dripping with venom as the younger boy screamed.

* * *

' _What happened…?'_

When Draco Malfoy was brought back to awareness by a blood curdling scream, the first thing he noticed was that he hurt all over. His body had been smashed into the icy ground, with bruises, cuts, and likely some degree of internal injury that had him at risk of bleeding out.

' _The drakes…an explosion…'_

The opening move of Fred Weasley, which had all but destroyed his team.

' _Why?'_

Draco didn't understand. Couldn't understand.

' _Why?'_

For all that he knew Fred would be a dangerous opponent, Draco, like most of Britain, had seen him as a hero – someone with honor and a firm sense of justice, like the other Stone Cutters. He'd trained with Lovegood, after all, had heard stories of the raid against the Acromantula colony, knew that the older boy was capable of great and terrible things.

He'd just never expected to be on the receiving end of Fred Weasley's wrath, since this had been a _game_ , and he'd done the Stone Cutter no harm.

But the older redhead hadn't cared. He, like the Hufflepuffs he supported, had chosen to strike at people who meant him no harm, to crush them with a single, overwhelming attack against which they had no chance.

Even now, Draco could barely see, barely hear, barely _move._

The one thing that drove him on, forced him to act was his determination that it would not end like this – that he would not go down, broken, helpless – useless _once again._

Unable to help his team, just as he'd been unable to help Cho.

Just as he'd been powerless to do anything but watch her die.

' _No.'_

It couldn't. It _wouldn't._

He might be wounded grievously, might not be able to get up or lift his head much, but still…his redwood and phoenix feather wand was in his hand, the length of wood radiating with an incredible heat within his grasp.

' _Yang…I have to…use yang…'_

He couldn't muster enough to heal himself, not with his current state, but he didn't have to. Instead, he poured whatever he could spare into his wand, as his hand began to glow with an awesome power.

As he poured magical energy into the wand, it began to hum with a strange, unearthly melody, a song that filled him, soothed him, numbed his terror and eased his pain, resonating with something deep inside him.

With his desire to protect, and his determination to strike down the enemy who had harmed so many of his own.

Unbeknownst to him, the song could be heard by others as well, with a falling over the crowd as their attention was drawn to the boy laying on the ground – the boy from whose wand issued the battle song of a phoenix.

* * *

On the field, Fred froze as the music grew louder, the plaintive notes shaking his resolve for some reason, though not as much as the soft glow surrounding Malfoy's wand hand.

' _That's…'_ There was only one person he knew who could use such an ability. ' _Lovegood. She…taught him?'_

If that was the case, he had to stop Draco now, before the boy completed whatever he was about to do. Stabbing his wand towards the fallen son of the Minster, he barked out a single word.

" _Stupefy!_ "

* * *

From where he had fallen, Draco could see the crimson beam of light coming towards him, with no possible way for him to avoid it.

But…he didn't have to.

He just had to beat the one who'd sent it to begin with.

Reaching deep inside himself, the boy called on every single scrap of energy he had left, every bit of will, every bit of emotion, desire, determination. All of his love, his anger, his sorrow, his hope – he took the totality of what he was and poured it into a single, all-powerful attack.

The darkness of the night was swept away as a shining finger of light surged forth, swallowing up the bolt of red and shattering through the half formed _**Protego**_ that Fred had attempted at the last moment before ripping through the Stone Cutter's chest like a fiery lance.

For a small eternity, all was quiet, an expression of utter shock and disbelief frozen on Fred Weasley's face as he simply stood there, feeling the cold air flowing through the hole in his body.

But the moment passed, as a breeze caused the Stone Cutter's body to pitch forward, hitting the ground with a muffled thump, unseeing, unmoving, still.

* * *

In the wake of the incredible surge of light, Ron Weasley blinked as the spiders that had swarmed all over him melted away, becoming nothing more than scraps of paper once again.

' _We…won?'_

What had happened?

Was that…it could only be Malfoy who'd done that. Lovegood's student. But…

Ron glanced over at the source of the incredible energies that had been released, to find that Draco was indeed there, eyes closed, body motionless as the grave. He wanted to go over and see if the boy was alright, but he couldn't move.

The spiders had wounded him beyond what he could bear, and he was bleeding all over, from cuts and scrapes and punctures.

Even if he could though, six other individuals – the other members of Fred's team were shimmering into visibility, the disillusionment spell that had been cast on them fading away with Fred's…fall.

They looked at the unmoving form of their leader, then over at Ron, who was still standing – and still had his wand – uncertainty and fear writ large across their features.

' _It's funny,'_ the part of his mind that could still think mused. ' _They're older. More powerful. Fresh. And they outnumber me six to one. If they attacked me, there's no way I could win. Even if they didn't, and just went to get our flag, none of us could put up a fight.'_

And yet…

None of that mattered.

Not today.

Not when their captain, the living legend they'd looked up to and placed their trust in, lay fallen at their feet, a gaping hole ripped through him by some unknown spell.

They wouldn't move – wouldn't act. They didn't dare.

So Ron Weasley acted for them.

"I'll make you the same offer my brother gave me," the boy growled out, dredging up the energy to speak from somewhere. "Forfeit, and you will be spared. Resist, and I cannot guarantee your safety."

To his wry amusement, they accepted, almost falling over themselves in their scramble to surrender to a nigh-beaten foe, as a whistle blew and the match was called, with medics taking to the field, checking on the state of the many casualties of the first Capture the Flag match.

Then, and only then, did Ron Weasley finally collapse.


	46. The Shape of Resolve

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 46.** _The Shape of Resolve_

As the curtain descended on the stage following the final performance of _Cornerstones_ , separating the cast from the gaze of their audience – though not muffling at all the sound of their thunderous applause – Hermione Granger sighed, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as her body relaxed, the persona of "Sialim Sokaris" falling away from her after the conclusion of another long performance.

' _I never thought I'd come to stand here, in the heart of the Ministry, with everyone's eyes on me….'_

For her, Hermione Jean Granger, a Hogwarts dropout and Muggleborn child of two dentists, becoming one of the most admired and talked about young actresses in all of Britain had been…unexpected, to say the least. She'd had no doubt that if she worked hard and kept up her focus, she would eventually make _something_ of herself, but to rise so far, so fast…

That was almost unheard of.

Especially when many of her peers at the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts (also called WADA or just "the Academy") had been honing their craft for many years, with many having taken lessons in voice, movement, music and more since they were small. As a group, they were a skilled, but eclectic bunch, with most of them being pure-blood (or half-blood) witches and wizards who had either chosen not to go to Hogwarts, or who had left the institution after finding out that it wasn't a good fit for them.

Most in this case meaning just about everyone at WADA, save for her and her friend Mafalda.

The why of it was quite understandable, of course.

Only someone already familiar with the magical world would even hear of the Academy, as it was Hogwarts which had the right of first refusal over all incoming students.

The Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts was far less focused on offering a comprehensive magical education than Hogwarts or other comparable schools, with its curriculum instead focusing on acting, directing, prop-making, music, voice, movement, and the other performance arts. Indeed, of the courses considered essential to a solid wizarding education (Potions, Herbology, History of Magic, Charms & Transfiguration), only the last two – Charms and Transfiguration – were offered at WADA, and then only up to OWL level!

Due to this, prior to graduation, WADA students were required to take the Wizards' Ordinary Magic and Basic Aptitude Test (WOMBAT) examination to prove that they were capable of functioning effectively within the magical world – something which was _not_ required of those at Hogwarts, as graduating from that institution was considered an acceptable substitute by the Wizarding Examinations Authority.

Further, WADA was quite expensive, for unlike a Hogwarts education, where one's tuition was subsidized by the Ministry (though not one's lodging, food, and book fees), WADA students (or as was usually the case, their families) had to bear the cost of attendance themselves, unless they were lucky enough to receive one of the few scholarships given out each year, or wished to take out a loan from Gringotts with frankly usurious interest rates.

Hermione had been fortunate in that regard, as upon being accepted to the Wizarding Academy of Dramatic Arts, she had been awarded the prestigious _Gilderoy Lockhart Performance Fellowship_ , a generous full-tuition scholarship given to incoming Muggleborn students (or child of a squib who had grown up in the Muggle world) of proven talent in the performing arts.

(This award – which came with a stipend to cover living expenses – had played no small part in her being able to convince her parents to allow her to transfer from Hogwarts to the performance-focused academy. It was also how she'd come to meet her friend Mafalda – the child of a Squib, one of the few other Lockhart Fellows at WADA.)

Aside from financial and educational considerations though, pursuing a career in performance had some other disadvantages, as WADA graduates were often less desirable to the Ministry or most other prospective employers than Hogwarts graduates. Granted, a handful were hired by the _Daily Prophet_ and the _Wizarding Wireless Network_ each year, but the rest either had to seek their fortunes on the continent or consider changing careers – at least, under normal circumstances.

In the wake of the disaster at the Quidditch World Cup, however, circumstances were hardly "normal", with the current crisis creating a great many opportunities for WADA's talented young performers.

Both alumni and current students were being hired in large numbers, with the _Wizarding Wireless Network_ putting on more radio shows, the Ministryneeding actors to help stage "spontaneous" rallies to bolster support for their policies, and the _Daily Prophet_ seeking skilled photographers and graphic designers for various pieces of…inspirational literature and messaging intended to reassure the people of Britain.

In other words, propaganda, as her distant pen-pal Tomas Peverell had warned her, urging her to be careful lest she be taken in by the Ministry's schemes. She hadn't really needed the warning, as she'd been hurt enough by her blindness towards Matou that it had become almost second nature to see if others were omitting vital pieces of information from her or twisting the information they gave her in some way, but his concern for her touched him, especially as she'd done nothing to deserve it.

She supposed the Peverell heir was simply worried about her, given the circumstances in which they'd last met, but for him to go out of his way to write her letters and offer her advice – even going so far as to send her a counterfeit Galleon linked to one in his possession via a Protean Charm, so that she could communicate with him without having to pay for international postage or waiting weeks for a reply, was more than she could have expected.

Hermione had found herself consulting him quite a bit in the days after the incident at the World Cup, and he'd always taken the time to listen and respond – something she deeply appreciated, as she didn't really have anyone else she could turn to, anyone else she could really share things with.

Things like how surprised she'd been to find that WADA was housed in a castle in some far-off corner of Magical Britain, but in a converted townhouse in Southwark, close to the city's entertainment district. It made sense in retrospect, since any aspiring performer needed to see other performances as part of their studies, and it was rather convenient to be able to _walk_ to performances, rather than Apparating or Portkeying into the city.

Things like how concerning she found the Ministry's actions in the wake of the Cup, with Britain's withdrawal from the International Confederation of Warlocks seeming quite rash and ill-considered, though she acknowledged she wasn't privy to all the reasons behind the move. Surely there had to be some reason for them to do something so…reckless.

Things like how in some ways she was _glad_ Sokaris wasn't around to see what had become of the land she'd died for, and how much the Boy-Who-Lived – who she'd had the dubious privilege of interacting closely with this year – had seemed to age.

If it had been up to her, she would have continued to avoid him, but that hadn't really been an option. An actress could hardly avoid the assistant director of the play she starred in, after all, especially when he _had been there_ for the events the play depicted, and had helped write much of the script, besides.

Before being cast as Sialim Sokaris in _Cornerstones_ , where she'd been forced to confront that her impressions of the Stone Cutters had perhaps been uncharitable, Hermione had not been fond of the group, with Potter, its official leader, bearing the brunt of her disfavor.

Where others had thought of him as a hero, she'd only seen him as a troublemaker and a narcissist, given his willingness to break the rules for his personal gain, to accept the praise and adulation of his peers for something he hadn't worked for – hadn't really been responsible for, and how easily he talked his peers into joining him on his mad schemes, whether those involved confronting a lieutenant of Grindelwald or assailing a nest of Acromantulae.

Yet Harry Potter she'd worked with had not matched her expectations at all, being a quiet but intense youth who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders, whose main concern in all of _Cornerstones_ was that Hermione did justice to the character of Sialim Sokaris, who'd laid down his life for him long ago.

' _I never realized that Sokaris had meant so much to him...but then, maybe I never saw him for who he was…'_

Just as she'd never seen Matou Shinji for who he'd really been, seeing only what she'd wanted to see – a dark knight who would always be there for her, who had swept her off her feet and somehow cared for her.

' _I couldn't accept that he didn't care in the way I wanted him to…'_

That, more than anything else, had been why things had…fallen apart so badly at the end. Her refusal to accept the truth, and his inability to see how she really felt.

' _Tomas is right. Boys really are dense sometimes…'_

Speaking of boys, she hadn't quite known how she would react to seeing Matou at the premiere, especially as he would no doubt be in the company of his lover, Luna Lovegood. Seeing him again in the flesh, after he'd seen her play Sokaris…

Well, whatever she'd thought their reunion might entail, it hadn't come to pass, as the Boy from the East had refused to talk to her at all, with Lovegood of all people coming to congratulate her instead. She hadn't expected that, and it had…hurt that he hadn't even been willing to say hello to her, though not as much as she'd thought it might.

Not very much at all, really.

That had merely been one of the many surprises Hermione had encountered during the run of _Cornerstones,_ and not the biggest by far. After each performance, many had come up to her, thanking her for sharing something so personal with them, for showing them that there was meaning in loss, for making them believe that they, like the Stone Cutters, could become more than what they were.

Heroes in an age that so desperately needed them.

As just Hermione Granger, she would never have had such an impact, for when people looked at her, all they would see was a young witch who loved stories and wanted to make her mark on the world. As the actress who played Sialim Sokaris, she was more than that.

She was a symbol.

She was _hope_.

That was why performance after performance had ended in standing ovations, with crowds all over Britain taking heart when they watched the story of loss and triumph, a story that resonated with what they desperately wanted to be true.

Tonight, this final night, over two thousand people had turned out to watch the final performance of _Cornerstones,_ to honor the young men – and the young woman – who had become Britain's most recent heroes. Tonight, two thousand people had come away reassured of the rightness of their cause, and that victory would come if they were willing to fight for it.

' _I just hope that is the truth.'_

* * *

Unlike her part-Veela colleague, Rachelle Lestrange, Potions Champion of Beauxbatons, did not mind the cold, and so had volunteered to keep watch during the massive storm that had sprung up unexpectedly, watching flurries of snow and frozen rain crash down upon the runic barrier she'd erected, while her companions huddled together for warmth in the comfort of a conjured tent.

Some might say, rather uncharitably, that it made no difference if she was warm or not because ice ran in her veins and heart anyway, and that she'd long since lost the ability to feel warm due to the blade she wielded, though Rachelle herself attributed her comfort to extensive preparations.

Her garments were designed – and enchanted – to keep her comfortable across a rather wide temperature range, after all, and her runic barriers allowed her stay warm or to heat or cool the air in a certain radius as she wished. Such was only expected of an alchemist, though few these days were worthy of the name.

She supposed that Matou Shinji, a self-described "aspiring alchemist" might be something of an exception, as the boy was courteous but unyielding when it came to his goals, had the power to crush his enemies but the wisdom not to do so unless necessary, and had connections to the fabled Eltnam family besides. He was a decent person, she supposed, though she found his judgment sometimes questionable, given his obvious attraction to her.

Still, it hadn't been lust that had driven him to ask her to accompany him on an expedition to hunt down the creature that had ruined Fleur's reputation, but an understanding that his quarry was beyond him – which, now that she'd seen some of what he called fusion could accomplish, was a rather unsettling thought.

And then there was Pansy Parkinson, who didn't fight at all like a typical European witch, and who – along with her – had been invited to help suppress the rogue creature from Matou's homeland, even being given the support of what Matou called a _kitsune_ – a magical fox, to help keep her invisible.

What that suggested about Matou's trust in Parkinson – and her abilities – was…most curious, given the way the Japanese boy had so disparaged the press after some of their articles about him, and how inadequate he seemed to find most of his Hogwarts peers.

' _Zen again, I 'ave seen 'is fusion form…'_

The horned…

Rachelle's thoughts trailed off as she feeling someone watching her from the distance, with the petite blonde looking up to see a figure walking towards her from amidst the flurries of snow – a figure who, upon approach, was revealed to be none other than a bruised and shivering Fleur Delacour, her face pale with signs of hypothermia.

"Rachelle…? Dieu merci!" the other exclaimed, her teeth chattering, as she approached the border of runes which shielded the camp from the conditions outside. "It is…ze storm came…unexpectedly. Please, let me in – I am freezing…"

"Oui. So it did," the petite blonde acknowledged, but narrowed her eyes as she noticed that the other girl was unarmed. "Ton baton? Vat 'appened to your vand?"

"Mon…" Fleur began, but trailed off as she began to sway unsteadily as the battering of the wind and rain and snow took its tol. "Mon…I…laisse-moi…"

Without another word, the part-Veela collapsed in a heap, with Rachelle moving to remove one of the runes and open a path through the barrier, except…

' _Non…'_

The Potion Champion's hand fell to her rapier to confirm her suspicions, with her lips curving into a dangerous frown as _Deuillegivre_ told her that whoever or whatever was outside the barrier, it was _not_ Fleur.

' _I am not fooled, tanuki!'_ Rachelle thought, drawing her blade and commanding the outer layer of runes not to fall – but to rise and encircle the prone form of the false "Fleur" – creating a circle of binding that would be enough to trap any witch or wizard.

The response – low, cruel laughter – was not what she expected, and it reminded her that perhaps she was not quite immune to feeling chills.

"So, you realized, Lestrange?" the false Fleur questioned, rising to her feet and dusting herself off. "Well, perhaps you will be more of a challenge than I thought!"

With a wordless cry, spears of ice exploded from the ground towards the doppelganger, only for the form of Fleur to vanish, with Rachelle's icy spikes – as well as her barrier of runes and the tent they sheltered – being smashed aside contemptuously by the armored coils of a full-grown leviathan.

Not satisfied with the damage it had wrought, already, the tail of the Selma swept out to crush the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons for daring to resist her, only for the creature to growl in irritation as its target was not there.

No, indeed, for the moment the tail began its swing, Rachelle Lestrange had already been in motion, glowing runes blossoming into existence under her feet as she ran towards the serpent, her unsheathed blade blazing with an ominous silver light, radiating a fierce soul-deep hunger all around could feel.

" _ **Deuillegivre!"**_

Left, she dodged. Right, left, right!

 _ **Slash!**_

A bellow of agony echoed in the howling storm, as the battle was joined.

* * *

Being part-Veela, Fleur Delacour, Champion of Beauxbatons had never been fond of the cold, though it was only after having come to Durmstrang for the Tri-Wizard Tournament that she'd come to utterly loathe it. Oh, she'd be the first to grant that Svalbard was a beautiful place, with the northern lights and the starry sky illuminating the icy world below with shades of wondrous color, and that no doubt the cold was responsible for the work ethic of students here, but it wasn't a place she was particularly well suited to, unlike her Potions Champion colleague, Rachelle Lestrange, wherever she was.

' _She 'as been away for almost a week…along with Matou…'_

Fleur's lips curled up into a half smile as she recalled that "Matou" meant "Tomcat" in French, and mentally compared the young Champion's behavior to that of one of those promiscuous felines.

' _Though if 'e is after Rachelle, 'e will be disappointed.'_

It was not for nothing that the petite Potions Champion of Beauxbatons was often called _La Belle Dame sans Merci_ , as all who had been bewitched by the Etoile Noire's beauty and sought to press their suit had come to regret it, for they did not truly understand her.

Even Fleur herself did not truly understand her fellow Champion, as she was not privy to Lestrange's secrets – and to be honest, she didn't want to, as at her core, Lestrange was far colder and more dangerous than even the being sealed into her blade.

Whatever Rachelle was up to was none of her business anyway, and besides, the part-Veela had enough to worry about regarding the Second Task, as unlocking the orb with her blood had only been the first step towards forcing it to reveal its secrets.

So she'd been hard at work, poking and prodding the orb with different sorts of magic, finding that a series of old runes appeared on the interior petals of the orb when it was heated in fire, and that when submerged in water, it _sang_ , emitting a haunting melody in a language she didn't quite recognize.

A hint, leading to another, to another, with all of them put together revealing the location of the fragments of the artifact she needed to retrieve and assemble to complete this task – or at least, allowing her to activate some hidden function of the orb that would allow her to better track down the fragments.

Then, and only then, would she leave behind the sturdy walls of Raven's Keep and venture into the cold, as to wander aimlessly about without any hint of where her quarry lay would be foolhardy indeed.

…and yet, Viktor Krum and George Weasley had already left the castle.

Did they know something she didn't? Had they already unlocked the secrets of their orbs, decrypting the odd messages by cross-referencing the ever-shifting writing with passages in old tomes, writing out the musical sequences to find some pattern of significance, or by finding a second ritual – which likely involved blood?

Or had they done nothing of the sort, and had simply decided to head out to the wilds, trusting in their ability to solve the puzzles of their orbs without reference materials and while trying to survive in a hostile environment?

Fleur didn't know, and she found that lack of knowledge…unsettling.

' _It is…strange. Zis competition is about more than just magical prowess…it is as twisted as any game at_ Beauxbatons. _'_

At the moment though, she seemed to be getting nowhere, and so wondered if she should take a short break to watch the Raven Banner's Capture the Flag match. She had heard…wild rumors of what had happened during the game hosted by the Banner of Wolves, though how much truth there was to it…

' _I suppose it vould be useful to see ze typical 'Ogwarts level of skill.'_

The Hufflepuffs she'd faced had prevailed mostly due to an overwhelming advantage in numbers. Were they representative of the school or…?

Fleur sighed and shook her head.

No. There was work to be done, and she needed to do it, for that was her duty as a Champion, whatever her comrades might be up to.


	47. Shifting Odds

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 47** _Shifting Odds_

 _Pain._

As a _tanuki_ , one of the race of elder _youkai_ that had once been revered as deities governing all things in nature (as proven by their able to take on virtually any form), the being called Maeve had never really had to worry about lasting injury. Granted, unlike one of those cursed _kitsune,_ she did not have access to healing magic in her default state, but she'd had no need of it, since it was a simple enough matter to simply shift into a new – uninjured – form, or to revert herself to an uninjured state – so long as she had sufficient prana, of course.

' _And given the feast I have had, I have nothing to fear…'_

 _Pain_.

Still, since those cursed humans called _onmyouji_ had ways of sealing her ability to transform for a time, she'd waited until the _kodama's_ master – and the _kodama_ – were asleep in their tent before she made her move, making a bid to slip past the defenses of those who hunted her, wearing the face of a friend seeking shelter in the midst of a raging snowstorm.

She had been certain that her deception would work, having studied her targets for some time.

She'd seen how protective they were towards Delacour, whose form she'd had ample experience with these last few months. She knew the part-Veela's mannerisms and abilities perhaps better than Fleur did herself. Between that, her ability to see what others were innately capable of, and her skill at showing people what they expected to see, it was rare that those she interacted with ever suspected that they were being played.

…which was why she'd been so surprised when Lestrange, on being confronted with a Fleur Delacour on the verge of collapse, had not opened a way through the runic barrier to check on her comrade – but had tried to trap her in a circle of binding.

The moment that occurred, Maeve knew that her deception had failed, and that she could not risk the chance that the petite blonde would wake her comrades, so she'd elected to strike, taking the form of a monstrous, evil-shaped serpent to strike at her foes, with the runic circle shattering as she _grew,_ hands and hair and skin giving way to scales and monstrous coils.

In the form of a selma, her hide and body were greatly resistant to foreign prana, allowing her to shrug off the effects of most spells cast by one of the westerners' false echoes, and even – to an extent – non-elemental _ofuda_ – those used to bind and seal abilities.

Still, she was not invincible.

Elemental magic could harm her, as could a sufficiently powerful spell from resonant false echoes, or those precisely targeted at her eyes, so she'd gone after the tent where the _kodama_ , its master, and one of his loversslept, smashing it aside with enough force to shatter stone, _before_ turning her attention on the troublesome insect who had seen through her transformation, tail lashing out with bone-crushing strength—

' _What?'_

—and hitting only air, for in the moment she'd taken her attention off Lestrange, the petite witch had _moved_.

' _Wher—'_

 _ **PAIN.**_

Maeve's serpentine form staggered as a line of white-hot agony erupted from her side, her nerves _burning_ as the… _witch_ 's rune-blade cut through scales as hard as diamonds without even a hint of resistance, ripping into muscle and sinew before being ripped away.

 _ **PAINPAINPAINPAINPAIN.**_

' _What is this? The witch…didn't…use her wand?! She stabbed…?!'_

It was preposterous. How could a mere sword do such damage?!

Before the _tanuki_ could consciously react, either to revert herself to an undamaged state or to shift into another form, cold ripped through her once more, this time from her other side, _once-twice-thrice_! with Maeve barely catching a glimpse of a small figure spinning away from her, with the witch in blue somehow stopping her spin mid-air, a runic platform hurling the witch and her silver-grey blade forward—

 _Whirr!_

—tearing right through the empty space the _tanuki's_ head had occupied but a moment before and vanishing into the snowstorm, with Maeve avoiding death or incapacitation solely due to reverting to her default form out of shock and fear.

Nothing – _no one_ – had ever threatened her like this, had ever overwhelmed her to this degree, had injured her like…

Injured…

' _How am I still injured?!'_

Maeve's eyes were wide with shock as she realized that the gashes left by her foe's fell blade had not gone away, that in fact, she was still bleeding…

' _But that's…impossible. Any injuries should have vanished when I took a new form.'_

For the first time in her half-century of existence, Maeve felt a frisson of terror pass through her as her powers failed her for the first time, though she firmly clamped down on the fear. If she gave into it, if she panicked, then defeat was certain.

' _Poison,'_ she decided, her thoughts racing as her eyes glanced about, searching for any sign of her enemy amidst the swirling snow. _'She is…a potioneer. Her blade…must be poisoned.'_

Yes, that would make sense.

' _A human would definitely use a trick like that.'_

They weren't as strong, as versatile as _youkai,_ after all, and needed their tricks. Well, she'd just have to make sure that such tricks wouldn't affect her. As a _tanuki_ , that much was thankfully simple enough. All she had to do was take the form of something that could not be poisoned. Something with no blood and no flesh. Something better suited for fighting a small foe…

With a grimace, Maeve _shifted_ once more, limbs multiplying and enlarging, skin taking on a silver sheen as she took on the shape and nature of a great shikigami she had once seen – a spirit bound to an immense mechanical spider crab.

In this form, the gashes in her sides remained, but at least, she was no longer bleeding. And hopefully, with the armor, there would be nothing left for the foe to cut – something she would soon test as she raised her claws towards the petite blonde shooting towards her, surging out of the storm with her blade outstretched.

* * *

As she sprang forward, Rachelle Lestrange found herself frowning at the new shape her enemy had taken, given that its long, armored limbs – and sharp claws – seemed much less unwieldy than a _selma's_ bulk. That, and because the young alchemist was not as familiar with the physiology of crustaceans – if in fact, this was a living being, she couldn't identify a weak spot she could attack to inflict incapacitating damage.

' _Zit does not matter. Even if I cannot defeat ze beast in a single strike,_ Deuillegivre _will wear it down in time…'_

After all, her rapier did not simply rend flesh. It scarred the spirit.

Contact.

Four clawed limbs reached out for her, one seeking to grasp – and snap – her thin blade, with the others moving to seize and crush her should she try to evade.

' _I see. Ze only way out…is through,'_ she thought, her lips curving into a cold smile as runes flared along the length of her blade.

Claws before, claws behind her – all reached out to tear her from the air, with her making no effort to avoid the limb barring her way. As it turned out, however, there was no need, as great spikes of ice erupted from the ground along the edge of the crab closest to her, crashing into the armored carapace of the monstrosity and _tipping it to one side_.

Just enough for her to avoid being impaled on one of the crab's razor sharp claws, a terrible screech of metal of metal echoing as she thrust out her arm, the tip of her enchanted blade scratching a pale line onto the metallic crab's limb from claw to fore joint as she passed.

* * *

' _What. What is this?!'_

Maeve's thoughts raced as she witnessed the petite blonde slipping away from her grasping claws, leaving a trail of agony in the limb that the blade had scratched – a limb that had gone limp, refusing to respond to her will.

' _That's not…it's not…'_

It just wasn't possible. The form she wore was forged of metal and magic, with nothing for a poison to act on. For that matter, it wasn't as if the limb had been severed by a particularly powerful blow, just scratched, so why…?

'… _it's not poison. It's the blade,'_ the _tanuki_ realized, raising – and sacrificing the functionality of – an armored limb to deflect another incoming blow from out of nowhere – this one aimed at one of its glowing eyes. _'It doesn't just cut – it disrupts magical abilities.'_ A simple touch was enough to disable. A wound from it would never heal. _'If I can't disarm her…'_

Then it was likely she would die.

At least, unless Maeve decided to turn tail and run, though the thought never crossed her mind. She was a _tanuki_ , descended from a lineage once revered as gods. As a _youkai,_ she would not run from a mere human, even if her foe possessed a cursed blade.

She would fight.

She would fight until she could fight no more, until either her foe lay broken – or she did, which meant she had to stop holding back, when her opponent so clearly wasn't.

' _If t_ _hat human has an enchanted weapon and is using her Craft to boost her speed, so I'll have to use magic to match her.'_ Maeve growled, not wanting to have to resort to this, but knowing she would have to, if she wanted any chance of success. _'Troublesome human.'_

It wasn't that it was difficult for her to use magic when wearing the shape of one who could. It was simply that doing so drained her hard-won reserves of prana far more quickly than simply borrowing the form of a physically powerful creature and crushing the opponent with speed and power. In the wild, it was often difficult for a younger _youkai_ to build up a significant stockpile of prana, since one lacked the opportunities to feed she'd found at Durmstrang, and the habits of fifty years of life died hard.

' _But if I don't, I'll lose. If I don't, I might as well simply give up now, and no self-respecting youkai goes down without a fight!'_

And so, Maeve was already taking on another form, as she looked out into the storm, her awareness expanding, extending through ice and snow and storm.

Her left arm was limp and immobile, and pain shot through every inch of her form, from the now-bleeding gashes in her side, but it was no matter. The bleeding could be stopped by freezing the wounds solid, and she didn't need her arm.

Not when the storm itself was hers to command, with her prana stretching out through snow and air and ice, letting her see exactly what her foe was doing – a mere trifle for one who wore the form of a _yuki-onna._

* * *

Using _Deuillegivre's_ ability to sense the souls of others, Rachelle Lestrange felt the tanuki's form shift once more.

' _Let us end zis!'_

Speeding towards the _youkai's_ last known position with the fleetness granted to her by her runes, she silenced her footsteps and circled around the enemy's last-known position, finding that the _tanuki_ had taken the form of a slender, white-haired woman with a slender frame, wearing a pure white dress.

' _Sylvana Terum, ze Commander of ze Banner of Volves?'_ she wondered. Certainly, it was one possibility, though if so…why? Surely there were more powerful forms the creature could have taken

Rachelle wasn't quite sure, though she wasn't about to take the time to find out. She'd been fortunate to avoid injury so far, but who knew if that would hold true if this conflict continued? For that matter, Parkinson and Matou had both been in the tent when their quarry had crushed it, and she needed to finish this quickly so she could see how they were.

After all, even for her, it would be…problematic if she were accused of killing off the British Champion, so she needed to ensure their survival.

Traceries of light blossomed into existence beneath her feet as her runes catapulted her forward with tremendous speed, with _Deuillegivre_ positioned to end the _tanuki's_ existence once and for all—

 _Squelch!_

—save that it was not the _tanuki_ , but _she_ who ended up impaled, with a spear of ice erupting from the ground in her path, too late for her to evade as it pierced her abdomen and ran her through, lifting her bodily off the ground. The shock of the blow and sudden deceleration disarmed her, her rapier flying out of her hand and clattering to the ground, whereupon it was immediately entombed in a column of ice.

And then her quarry turned, fixing her with an imperious golden stare, and Rachelle knew that whatever form the _tanuki_ had taken, it hadn't been a human one.

"If would have been much easier if you'd simply let me in, you know?" the other called out, almost conversationally, the hint of malice in her voice suggesting that less than pleasant things awaited her. "Or if you'd never joined the _kodama's_ master on his foolhardy mission to capture me."

Rachelle said nothing, concentrating as runes formed on the ground behind her enemy and…simply fizzled out, with her opponent glancing over her shoulder before looking back at her with a cruel smirk.

"Trying to take me down with you?" the woman in white sneered. "Foolish. The ice will not obey you. Your runes cannot fully manifest. Not when my prana invests this entire region. It's over." She smiled then, a wintry expression that held no mirth whatsoever. "But, I am not…unreasonable. I am willing to spare your life, if you promise to be a good girl and go back to the castle empty-handed, giving up your quest…and your blade."

* * *

By all accounts, it was a generous offer, probably more so than the human deserved, especially since the petite blonde didn't seem to know when she was beaten. Admittedly, part of Maeve rather liked the young Frenchwoman's bloody-minded determination, but the rest hated her for bringing her lasting, lingering _**pain.**_

Pain that wouldn't simply vanish. Pain that even now grew worse and worse.

"You humans are strange creatures, you know," the _tanuki_ commented, walking closer to the girl who'd tried to kill her. "Going through so much effort to pretend to be more than simply beasts, weaving such odd rules that go against the order of nature. The strong bow to the weak even as the weak fear the strong. Desire is something to hide, rather than something to share and embrace. Wallowing in despair with no rhyme or reason."

She glanced off towards there the broken remnants of the tent lay, as jagged spears of ice ripped through what was left, again and again and again.

"And then, too, the fact that males who seduce many are lauded, while females are reviled," Maeve commented, turning back to Lestrange. "That the _kodama's_ master is envied by his peers for his shamelessness, while Delacour is seen as trash." She smiled coldly. "Still, I distract myself."

"Vat iz it you vant, _tanuki_?" the petite blonde inquired.

"I have already said what I want, human," the _youkai_ replied. "Your blade for your life."

" **No,"** the Frenchwoman answered, silver eyes flashing in the darkness.

"So be it," the _tanuki_ intoned, reaching out with her awareness and commanding the spear of ice on which Lestrange was impaled to bud, to branch, to rip apart the petite blonde's body from the inside.

Only…it didn't work.

The icy spear would not respond to her command.

' _What. How…how is she doing this? It cannot be her runes, and my prana should overwhelm hers, so why…? How…?'_ But Maeve shook her head. _'I don't have time for this. Lestrange did more damage to me than I have suffered in decades_ _of existence_. _It's time to end this._ "

If ice wouldn't work, a _yuki-onna_ 's life-draining touch certainly would. Lestrange was no fusion user, after all, no _onmyouji_ with amulets of protection to ward off the effects of a _youkai_ 's innate abilities.

' _And a meal would be so very helpful if I want to heal…'_

Keeping an eye out for any tricks the human might play, Maeve advanced on her prisoner, coming closer, closer, closer still, only to come to a halt as the other _smiled_ , a slim silver knife appearing in her one of her hands.

"And what do you intend to do with that, human?" the _tanuki_ asked in a rather arch tone. "Cut me if I get close? I knew you were an irrational species, but this…"

Lestrange _moved_ , the silver knife flashing as it sliced into…

'… _her wrist?'_ Maeve's eyes widened. ' _Why would she cut herself?! Does she mean to deny me her life?!'_

If so, the attempt would be for naught. A wound of that size would take many long minutes to bleed out, especially in these icy conditions. All the _tanuki_ had to do was seize her victim. The abilities of the _yuki-onna_ she'd copied would do the rest.

Throwing caution to the wind, she closed the distance with inhuman speed, taking hold of the blonde witch's knife hand with her one functional forelimb and squeezing until the knife clattered to the snow below, as the other's lifeblood dripped down onto the ice and snow.

"It is finished," Maeve declared, as she felt the first trickle of the other's prana hit her, rich and sweet and intoxicating. At last, her foe was beaten. At la—

Someone was screaming, Maeve realized, a terrible wail of pain and despair louder and shriller than the harsh arctic winds themselves.

' _No. I'm screaming.'_

Around her, the world twisted, spun, seemed to expand, contract, expand, contract, grow hot and cold and hot again, as the other's corrupted prana _burned_ inside her veins like molten metal, the flow of prana inside her going haywire as she lost control of her surroundings, the ice and snow and air no longer hers to control.

Her body no longer hers to control.

Slowly, inexorably, the corruption spread, and when it reached her core…

' _No.'_

… _if_ it reached her core, everything would be for naught. The fight. Leaving Japan. Her many manipulations and her quest to gain power.

' _I will not.'_

But how…how could she stop something that was already inside her, spreading through her veins and nerves and tissues _because_ she'd brought it inside? There was no way.

' _No. There is one way.'_

It went against every instinct she had, every piece of wisdom she'd acquired in her half-century of existence, but _there was a way._

With the last of her will, the _tanuki_ forced her core into overdrive, flooding her channels with the prana she'd painstakingly gathered over the last few months in a desperate attempt to overwhelm the corruption that threatened to destroy her.

For corruption it was, with the human's prana twisting everything it touched, growing stronger and stronger as she fed it more prana. But that was alright. It could only convert prana so quickly, so if she poured _everything_ she had into it, holding nothing back, she could stop it, could force it from her body.

Somehow, she managed, with gouts of prana exploding from every inch of her body, shadow and light entangling like in some terrible waltz, rending her flesh, searing her soul, wounding her more deeply that she could not stop, had no protection against.

Most expected threats to come from without, after all, not from within.

The ordeal had taken merely seconds, but it felt like a small eternity as the _tanuki_ took on another shape, what was left of its prana straining as she borrowed a magus' powers, with Maeve rising to her feet and looking to see that Rachelle Lestrange was no longer impaled upon an icy spike.

That shards of blood tinged ice, each engraved with a glowing rune, spun around her foe's body.

" _ **Deuillegivre,"**_ the human intoned, bloody hand outstretched, with the _youkai_ panicking as she glanced over at the column of ice in which her foe's rapier had been sealed, only to calm herself as she saw that nothing had happened, that the rune-blade was still sealed.

' _That's right. Whatever she's doing – whatever she is, at least her blade is still trapped…'_

Or so she thought, though her mouth went dry a moment later as hundreds of shadowy spirits erupted from the silvery form of _Deuillegivre_ , surging towards the _creature wearing_ the form of Fujou Shiroe, hungering for any scrap of prana, any scrap of _life_ they could acquire.

' _Fuck.'_

* * *

Despite her grave wounds, Rachelle Lestrange found herself _smiling_ , as few had ever pushed her to this extent, forcing her to use the magic of blood and darkness she had inherited as _Deuillegivre_ 's master. Most of the time, her runes and aerosolized potions were enough, but the former had proven to be of little effect in direct combat, while the fact that the fight was taking place during a snowstorm precluded extensive use of aerosols.

Still, she thought, as she downed a vial of what would normally be an incredibly potent toxin, there were advantages to being an alchemist.

Already her body was beginning to regenerate, the wound in her abdomen healing as did every wound on which she used blood magic, and she allowed herself a moment to breathe before making her way towards the column of enchanted ice trapping her blade.

Had she been but an ordinary witch, it would have been a difficult thing to dispel the barrier, but given what she was, she needed but to touch the column with her blood, with the ice dissolving as her prana seized control of the magic within, allowing her to reach out and take hold of her weapon once more, whereupon she recalled the spirits of those the blade had slain, given that they seemed to have stopped from reaching their foe by a sphere wrought of shining golden chains.

* * *

Within her impromptu fortress wrought of the golden chains of exorcism, Maeve – in the guise of Fujou Shiroe – trembled as she remembered just how close the spirits had come to reaching her, to draining her dry and ending her existence.

'… _what is she?!'_ Her mind raced, yet no answers came to mind. _'How can she command onryō? Where did those spirits even come from?!'_

She hadn't seen any indication that the Frenchwoman could do so when she'd "read" her abilities, after all. The girl had some control over ice, runes, and some skill with a blade, but as far as Maeve could see, _that had been it_.

If her foe had been an _onmyouji_ , perhaps she would have been more cautious, but her foe had been a westerner, and Maeve had learned enough to know that in battle, western practitioners almost universally preferred honing and using their innate abilities. Prideful of their strength as practitioners, as _individuals,_ they relied on their skill in their Craft and their false echoes to see them through any danger, only stooping to the use of tools if they _knew_ they were outclassed by some far superior foe.

To do otherwise, according to their books and culture – especially British culture – was barbarism and savagery. Goblins, the great metalsmiths and enchanters of the West, were considered barbarians because they could make weapons that threatened the dominance of wizards. Centaurs, who used bows and could read the patterns of the world in ways deeper than any wizard was capable of, were thought to be inhuman brutes because they looked different and couldn't use magic. House elves, who they had subdued and bound to their service _with the aid of wands_ , were denigrated, their culture and people broken until they were nothing more than slaves.

Even half-breeds and those descended from them were looked down upon, especially if they were physically different from the human norm in some way.

Eastern practitioners, on the other hand, were far more pragmatic, understanding that they were not the most skilled and powerful beings to stride the earth. They understood that they had limits, that it was folly _not_ to create tools to give themselves an advantage, to seek out partnerships with beings more powerful than they, in which each could learn from the other. They were even free to intermarry with _youkai_ without being discriminated against.

Tsuchimikado Hokuto, for instance, was half- _kitsune_ , yet no one looked down on her for her heritage, given how involved _youkai_ were in the governance of _Mahoutokoro,_ whereas in Britain, only humans – well, those who believed themselves to be humans, at any rate – held the reins of power.

As a _tanuki,_ Maeve could see – and copy – the innate abilities of others when she took their forms, could make use of any abilities they had learned to do on their own. Most _youkai_ – even _kitsune_ – usually did not bother fighting them, because it was far too much trouble to confront a shapeshifter who could read one's abilities and employ the perfect counters.

 _Onmyouji_ were much more troublesome to fight, given the tools they used, the shikigami they controlled, and the many abilities they possessed that were not wholly their own.

' _This Rachelle Lestrange is far more like an_ onmyouji _than a western practitioner…I underestimated her, badly._ '

And after the _tanuki_ had been surprised so many times, she was no longer in the mood to play "fair." She had intended to simply beat her adversary and humiliate her, making her understand that no mere human had the ability to defeat her, only to end up maimed and nearly killed.

She would not make the same mistake twice.

' _It's time to end this…'_ she thought, dropping the barrier of chains and shifting into the form of a young man with dark hair and cold red eyes as the spirits pulled back.

Her opponent lunged forward with rune-granted speed, the runeblade in her hand radiating a sense of primal hunger as ice rose up at Maeve's every side, keeping her from falling back, from dodging to one side or another.

She couldn't dodge, couldn't retreat – so she didn't.

With a cruel smirk, the form of Tomas Peverell rose into the air, making use of the puppet's master of unsupported flight as it levelled its still-working arm towards the girl below, and unleashed a silent volley of _**Confringo**_ _s_ _ **.**_

* * *

For Rachelle Lestrange, the world _exploded_ , as waves of bone-shattering force erupted all around her, the impromptu barrier of blood she raised failing as her petite form was tossed to the ground. If it had come from one direction, she could have defended, could have held out, but against explosions from all sides, from above, below, and all around her, she could not endure.

All she could do was try to survive as she unleashed a series of runes to try to bind her flying foe, but to no avail, as the _tanuki_ 's new form simply waved its hand and willed them out of existence, before sending hurling down another volley of _**Confringo**_ **s.**

This one she could not defend against, with her body slammed in one direction after another by waves upon waves of pressure, the bones in her arms and legs snapping, her ribs fracturing, her sword falling from her shattered hand as her insensate form fell at last.

Her body was failing. Pain wracked her form, her vessels were broken and torn, with her survival so far due only to her active use of blood magic to keep her body intact – but she knew it wouldn't last, as the flying enemy came to a halt high above her, levelled his hand, and whispered _**Confringo.**_

There was a last explosion, which somehow seemed muffled, but she had no time to ponder such things, as in the next moment, everything went dark.

* * *

Glaring up at what looked like Tomas' flying form, after having raised a bounded field to keep the _tanuki's_ last attack from killing Rachelle on the spot, Matou Shinji growled. At the moment, he was decidedly _not_ the happiest person in the world. But then, one wouldn't expect him to be, not when he was suffering from the effects of several broken ribs, a shattered arm, and what he thought was probably damage to his spine, given that prior to fusing with Zelkova, he hadn't been able to move his legs.

The pain didn't exactly fade in fusion form, either. It was still there, as bad as it had been before, but simply seemed less…significant, given how his consciousness had expanded to encompass the ice, the snow, the land around him.

Which was how he had known that Rachelle had fallen to the _tanuki,_ and that if he hadn't acted _right away_ , it would have killed her.

He wouldn't - couldn't - let that happen, not when she'd fought so long, so bravely, _alone_ against the beast.

' _I can't – won't – fail her. Not when this…all this, is because of me. She fought to buy me time – to buy_ us _time.'_

Time he'd needed for Pandora to stabilize his vital organs after a massive reptilian limb had come out of nowhere, smashing the tent and all within (because in order to fuse, both parties had to be relatively stable, and not a hairbreadth from death, or in such pain that one couldn't muster the will and concentration needed). Time for Pandora to heal Pansy and make sure she was in fighting condition, as he was merely meant to be the party's shield (something he'd already failed at), while she was meant to be the unseen knife that would end the battle and for all.

Fortunately for their plans, her injuries had been far less severe than his, with bruises instead of broken bones, sprains instead of torn muscles and sinews. The coils of the serpent had struck him directly, while Pansy had gotten off with a glancing blow before Zelkova had shifted them all into a hollow beneath the earth to avoid any further damage.

' _I didn't think even the_ tanuki _would attack during a fierce snowstorm, not when we had a bounded field up and someone on watch…'_

Knowing that Rachelle had been on the surface, fighting against their foe alone, without any support or assistance, had been agonizing, given that they were supposed to be a team, and that he knew that as powerful as she was, Rachelle Lestrange was still only human. If she died – if she was badly hurt – her blood would be on _his_ hands, because he had been the one to ask her to come on this expedition.

Blasting curses rained down upon his position, pinning him down, but he wasn't particularly worried, with his confidence proving to have some basis in fact when the curses simply glanced off his bounded field ineffectually. As someone who had been a student of the so-called Peverell, he was quite aware of the power of the form his enemy was borrowing, and wasn't about to underestimate a copy of the dark wizard. On the other hand, he also knew the power of fusion, and so was aware that unless the enemy decided to use the Killing Curse, which would be fairly inaccurate from so high above, there was no way the _tanuki_ could pierce a fusion-powered bounded field.

(Though he hadn't known Tomas could fly, or that it was possible to do so using only the secrets of witchcraft. The only individuals he'd known capable of flight had been so while fused with a familiar that was already flight capable. If Tomas knew of such a technique, this bore considering).

For now though, he was focused entirely on the battle, filled with an emotion so far past anger, so far past rage that he was once again calm, his insides as cold as ice as he knelt by Rachelle's side, popping the stopper from a vial he carried and pouring it into her mouth.

He could have taken it himself, healed his wounds…but she needed it more than he.

Standing, he raised his scythe, and _ofuda_ shot skywards in a vortex of paper and light, surging towards the _tanuki's_ flying form.

* * *

Wearing the form of Tomas Peverell, Maeve snarled as her coup de grace was deflected by a powerful bounded field – one that only the _kodama's_ master could have possibly produced.

' _Impossible…'_

However possible or impossible she thought it must be, however, the reality of the situation was staring her in the face.

Matou Shinji was still alive, and was not only defending his comrade – the one who had done so much damage to her, but actively trying to stop her, with hundreds – perhaps thousands of _ofuda_ of binding and sealing swarming into the air after her.

Once and again, they nearly came upon her.

Once and again, she used combat apparition to evade them, though she knew that eventually, she'd be unable to do so, given the damage she had already suffered, and the way she was bleeding what was left of her prana from unhealing wounds.

She'd been overconfident, thinking that she could finish things quickly and leave, but things had not gone according to her expectations, and now running away wasn't even an option. If she ran, she'd run out of prana, and no doubt die. If she just defended herself, she would lose, eventually succumbing to the injuries that had already been inflicted upon her.

Really, there was only option left: spending what was left of her prana on a last, desperate attack, a form she ordinarily would not be capable of. If she could stop the _kodama's_ master, destroy the cursed blade that had given her these wounds then maybe…

' _There is nothing to lose, and everything to gain. If I don't, I am already dead.'_

And so, she shifted one final time, becoming a vast three-legged crow, whose figure and form blazed with the power of the sun itself, radiating a fierce heat that burned away all the talismans that came towards her. Invoking every last shred of her remaining power, she loosed a stream of blue fire that tore apart the bounded field – and washed over the clearing it had protected.

Ice and snow flashed to super-heated steam.

Wood, metal, dirt _melted_ , the earth itself turning to glass under the power of the transcendental attack.

The stream went on and on and on, until it was abruptly cut off, with the _tanuki_ knowing no more as the world was torn apart by a burst of silver light, her transformation failing as she lost consciousness, the unmerciful ground rising up to meet her.

* * *

.

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* * *

Slowly, eyes were opened, and like arising from mud, consciousness returned, along with the memory of pain. She couldn't move, couldn't feel anything besides her eyes, couldn't see anything except for the dome of his familiar's bounded field and the glowing slip of paper on her forehead.

"Are you all right?" the voice of Matou Shinji asked from somewhere beside her, though she couldn't turn her head to look.

She was not…displeased he'd survived, though it annoyed her that he wouldn't come into her field of view. She wanted to say as much, but the words wouldn't come. Her muscles would not respond.

"Ah, sorry, I forgot," the boy's voice said, seeming somewhat embarrassed. "Until your bones are healed, it's probably not a good idea to talk. I…uh…kind of sealed your ability to move, so you wouldn't cause yourself additional harm."

She half-expected the boy to rise, but he did not, so she simply waited to hear what he had to say.

"I…" his words came to a stumbling halt, as if he didn't know how to continue. "That is…" he began again, but trailed off. It was odd how now he was uncertain, when he'd always been so decisive in the past. When all this had been his idea to begin with.

"Sorry for not being where you can see. I was pretty badly hurt too, and even if Pandora works quickly, healing takes time." The boy chuckled, a self-deprecating sound that seemed to cause him pain, if the strangled groan that came after was any indication. "I guess, what I want to say is…we won, Rachelle," he said at last. "Because of you, we won."

She didn't remember winning a battle, just being struck down by a flying foe – something she thought flat out impossible, though she supposed she'd take what credit the other was willing to offer.

"You bought us time so we could join the fight. And you very nearly won it without help anyway."

Rachelle simply sighed. Matou was only saying such things because he wanted something, no doubt.

"Pansy is dealing with the captured _tanuki_ now, and well, Pandora is trying, but she keeps bleeding out. Maeve's wounds won't heal. Since you were the one who inflicted them, do you know how…?"

If she could have, Lestrange would have smiled, as the fact that the wounds still lingered meant that her blade was still intact.

' _Deuillegivre. Release,'_ she ordered with some effort, before slipping once more into fitful sleep.

* * *

She sat alone in the snow at the edge of the clearing, an _ofuda_ stuck to the small of her back as she looked out into the storm, wondering how it had all come to this. Her wounds, such as they were, had been treated and were – finally – beginning to heal, and she was slowly coming to terms with what had happened.

…she had lost.

She had dealt great injury to her foes, nearly slain those who fought them, but in battle, as in much of life, nearly didn't really count for much. In the end, she had been brought down, partially by their skills, partially by her hubris, and now she was a prisoner, at the mercy of those who had bested her, with her ability to transform – and to use prana at all – sealed away.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

For a time, she had been free, the only one of her kind in this land, able to see things, experience things, no _tanuki_ had ever had the opportunity for before, making the most of things after her former Master had more or less abandoned her.

The form she wore now was not her own. It was that of the brown-haired girl who had kept her from falling to her death and captured her, binding her with one of the onmyouji's _ofuda_. One of the boy's many lovers, she thought, from how intimate they seemed.

The _tanuki_ sighed as she heard footsteps approaching her, meaning that her captor must have finished tending to the others and now wanted to talk. She wasn't particularly in the mood for what she suspected would be discussed, but it wasn't as if she had a choice.

"…you have won, _onmyouji,"_ she said bitterly.

"Not an _onmyouji_ , just a witch," Pansy Parkinson replied quietly, coming closer and closer, until she sat down beside the _tanuki,_ looking out into the raging storm. "I don't know Matou's arts."

"Just take the compliment, human," the _tanuki_ grumbled. "I don't think much of westerners. Well, most of you, anyway."

"Bit odd to have someone who looks exactly like me complimenting me, I have to say, especially since I didn't do much," Pansy noted evenly. "Not compared to Matou and Lestrange."

"…you dealt the final blow. And yet you saved my life," the other said after a moment. "When it would have been far easier to let me die."

"I think that would be a waste of your… _talents_ , don't you?" Pansy replied, raising an eyebrow as she looked at her doppelganger.

"Talents, you say?" the _tanuki_ echoed, a dry chuckle issuing from her lips. "Am I to become yours then, _onmyouji_ , to wait upon your every whim and pleasure you as I did my last master?"

Pansy blinked.

"Fred Weasley asked you to…?"

"Not in so many words, but it was plain to see what he wanted," her doppelganger answered with a shrug. "Who he wanted. Whether it was the granddaughter of the Chairman of the Japanese Council of Magic, one of many girls at Hogwarts, or even someone like Miss Delacour, it wasn't exactly hard to figure out. He believed himself civilized, but in the end, he was just another beast, a creature of desire and violence, of pride and rage."

"Was that why you abandoned him, and went…off?" Pansy asked. "Because he was a…beast?" She blinked. "Wait a minute, you're responsible for all those rumors at Hogwarts, aren't you?"

"I was merely meeting my Master's needs," the _tanuki_ replied. "Sating his desire for comfort. Not that he ever acknowledged the extent of my services. Or paid me much attention when I wasn't in another person's form. I picked him because he seemed kind, and because in terms of innate abilities, he is more powerful than most. And yet…"

"He neglected you?"

"Indeed. Simply ignored me, leaving me to my own devices. He never asked what I could do. How we could work together. Never even bothered to feed me, or offer me any scrap of attention. He treated me as if I didn't exist, and he is surprised I left? Even a dumb beast would have done the same," the _youkai_ scoffed contemptuously.

"You know, you caused a fair bit of trouble in Miss Delacour's form."

"Is it my fault that you humans cannot keep secrets?" the tanuki shrugged blithely. "Especially the males among you? That you…what is the term, kiss and tell? I made use of the form of Viktor Krum as well, but none of the females I visited complained – or told."

"Ah. So you…go both ways then?"

"I do not much care about such artificial boundaries. Neither do most shapeshifters, frankly. Pleasure is pleasure, after all, and prana is prana. And in the end, I am a _youkai_. While I can certainly consume – and enjoy – food and drink, what keeps me – us – alive is prana. Was I supposed to simply starve?"

"Given everything that was said, you were in no danger of starving," Pansy commented.

"Why waste an opportunity to rapidly build up my reserves? Besides, no one was hurt by my actions, were they? After all, I never took what was not freely given."

"I see," the Assassin's apprentice noted. "Can I ask another question?"

"You already have, but I suppose I cannot stop you if you wish to ask yet another."

"Why did you choose to fight us? Given your abilities, you probably could have kept on evading us, couldn't you?"

The _tanuki_ was silent for a time, as she stared out into the howling white.

"I suppose it is because of pride," she said at last. "I wanted to see if you were strong. If you were worthy of respect. T _anuki_ respect strength, whether of the body, the mind, or the spirit. When I last chose a master, I did not test him - and he proved a disappointment. As you wished to capture me, I wished to take the measure of any potential master."

"And…?

"It is the way of the weak to obey the strong, what more can I say?" the _tanuki_ answered diffidently. "You won, and I lost. That said, I presume you are to be my new Master, as you are speaking with me now?"

"…that _was_ the bargain I made with Matou, in return for lending him my assistance."

"Hmph. Better than the _kodama's_ master or that demon of blood and darkness, I suppose." The _youkai_ wearing Pansy Parkinson's form sighed. "Very well then. I will need your blood to seal the contract."

"My blood?" Pansy echoed, momentarily taken aback.

"Oh yes," the _tanuki_ murmured. "Did the _kodama's_ master fail to mention that?"

"…he did, actually. Why is it needed?"

"To create a path between us, _master,_ a bond of prana and thought so I can speak into your mind as the _kodama_ does in Matou Shinji's, or the _kitsune_ does in her Master's."

"…oh, so Matou and Lovegood aren't just good at talking to animals?"

The _tanuki_ barked out a laugh, showing a hint of mirth for the first time in the entire conversation.

"No. They and their familiars are linked. By blood and fate and fortune."

"Blood magic, huh?" Pansy found this interesting, given how blood was usually involved in the Dark Arts in the magical tradition she knew, but...if it would make her more powerful, she supposed using a bit of blood magic was a small price to pay.

Withdrawing a knife, she opened a cut on one of her fingers, offering her blood to the _tanuki_ from the source. Her doppelganger smirked, taking Pansy's hand and licking the bloody finger clean, only to continue licking sensuously after that.

"Mm…" _'That was good,_ master. _Though I'm surprised that you're a virgin. I thought you were one of Matou's lovers, from how you two act with one another_. _'_

Pansy felt her face flush with warmth as she jerked her hand away, as if the _tanuki_ 's touch burned.

"T-That's none of your business, you – you…!" she began indignantly, though she trailed off as she realized something. "What do I call you, anyway? I can't just call you 'you' or ' _tanuki'_ all the time. And even if you're in my form, I won't call you Pansy. That would just get confusing."

"Agreed. As a symbol of our contract, then, give me a name," the _tanuki_ commented dryly. "After all, it is...traditional."

Considering some of the reading she'd been doing as she looked into history of runes, Pansy found it easy enough to choose a name for the familiar, one that was somewhat...reflective of its abilities.

"Then I will call you Kriemhilde, or just Hilde for short," the Assassin in training offered. "German for battle mask, or simply battle."

"A fair name from a fair master," her doppelganger said, giving her a small smile. "I have never truly served a master before, given what happened with my last. Perhaps you will turn out better than he, hm?"

"One can only hope, Hilde."


	48. Fragments of Oblivion

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 48.** _Fragments of Oblivion_

As far as the eye could see, everything was white, the pitch black of the polar night giving way to the fury of an arctic storm. Icy winds howled like the baying of frenzied wolves, as ready and eager to tear into unprotected flesh as the fangs of those great predators, whipping powdery snow all around until nothing could be seen.

For those unfortunate enough to be caught within it, there was no such thing as warmth, no such thing as color, no such thing as direction or time.

No way out, and no way to know how long it would last, as the storm erased every trace that a world had existed before it, could exist without it. Within the tempest's embrace, one's very sanity, one's sense of self was in danger – for how long could one maintain a grip on the existence of the self without some point of reference?

Of course, for someone like George Weasley, who spent most of his time in spirit form, and whose vision did not rely upon ambient light, none of these things so much as inconvenienced him.

' _How…unfortunate for my competitors, who are merely flesh and blood.'_

Granted, they were impressive despite their…physical limitations, with Krum being the first to unlock his orb and leave the castle in search of the fragments, and Delacour demonstrating her magical strength by conjuring a fully corporeal Patronus, but some measure of competence was to be expected from those who bore the title of _Champion._

' _I suppose the Goblet of Fire must indeed have some ability to separate the skilled from the common rabble,'_ George mused, thinking back to what he remembered from his brief glimpse of the chalice. ' _And of course, to lay a geas upon those it selects so that they cannot simply change their minds. All of which could make it quite a useful tool for Britain in the here and now…'_

Officially, the Goblet was tied to the Tri-Wizard Tournament, becoming active before each one so that it could select a representative from each participating school in the competition, but George saw no reason why it couldn't be…repurposed to help the British Ministry select skilled and powerful individuals to lead the army it was training.

Given the Goblet's reputation as an impartial and incorruptible judge of ability, and the level of performance of its chosen Champions, those selected for leadership would no doubt be respected by their peers, while simultaneously being bound by whatever magical contract they agreed to by submitting their name for consideration.

'… _giving their army of small-minded weaklings a spine of steel.'_

From what he'd seen during his time at Hogwarts, many of those who had either been conscripted into the army or who intended to join it were fools. Self-important children, puffed up with pride with the thought that they were doing their part to defend their nation against some grave threat, believing that such was enough to make them like the Boy-Who-Lived, or like one of the Stone Cutters.

And when push came to shove, they, with few exceptions, would no doubt reveal to the world that they were a cowardly, undisciplined lot with no understanding of loyalty or the horrors of war – just like those foolish little Hufflepuffs who had so misjudged their capacity.

Unless, of course, they had capable officers coordinating them and bolstering their courage by example, as would be the case if – and he supposed it wasn't really that big an _if_ – the Ministry did decide to use the Goblet for its own purposes.

' _Perce will probably end up keeping his role as the overall commander of the trainees, but I'm sure the Ministry will want to appoint some lieutenants for him. People to help him lead the common footsoldiers – and to make sure his loyalty is absolute.'_

Still, if they intended to repurpose the artifact for military use, they needed to make sure _his_ performance in the Tri-Wizard Tournament was something…spectacular, something beyond mere mediocrity.

That was, George suspected, the reason why the Ministry had been so quick to offer him a replacement for his shattered wand at their expense, with Ollivander himself coming to Hogwarts to present him with a newly crafted instrument.

' _Cherry with a dragon heartstring core_ … _a dangerous, exceptionally powerful combination…_ '

Cherry was one of the rarest wand woods, resulting in wands of truly lethal power with almost any core. In combination with Dragon heartstring, however, the most powerful of the Three Supreme Cores, it was absolutely a lethal weapon, capable of amplifying a wizard's magic many times over – so much so that it was generally thought to be a bad idea to grant such a wand to a wizard without exceptional self-control and strength of mind.

Ollivander himself had warned him about the power of his new wand, mentioning that wizards without exceptional self-control and strength of mind often ended up destroying themselves or those around them, but that as a Champion, George was no doubt destined for great and terrible things.

' _Well, I suspect the Ministry wouldn't shed a tear if I accidentally – or purposefully – killed my competitors, though I won't be giving them that satisfaction.'_

Even if he was contractually bound to try to beat them, he thought that utterly destroying them might be a tad excessive, given that they hadn't done anything to earn his ire, and that it might reveal more of his capabilities to Britain than he was comfortable with them knowing. Besides that, he rather liked Delacour, given her intriguing abilities and her inner fire. Yes, she was beautiful, he supposed, but to someone who spent most of his time looking not at people's physical forms but at their souls, everyone was beautiful in one way or another.

It was funny, really. For most humans, Delacour's beauty would be the first thing they noticed about her, even before factoring in her allure, but for him, it was almost an afterthought – just another indication of how the logic and norms of humanity no longer really applied to him, and hadn't, since he'd acquired his ring of power and his _satori-_ bond.

' _And now I've acquired another…object of interest…'_

To his spirit sight, most wands were simply bits of natural magic in a physical shell, which amplified the effects of any magical energy channeled through them, but lacked a will of their own – though the longer one used them, the more the magic in the wand slowly shifted to fit to match that of the wizard (a process that could be reversed and reset if a wand was taken from its owner).

The wand that Matou procured for him, however, didn't feel…like a simple tool at all, but a malevolent will bound to his own by his blood and by the runes carved into the fine-grained aspen that enclosed the seething darkness at its core. Indeed, while other wands simply existed, this one had been tied to him from the _very moment it had been brought into existence_ , something he'd very quickly become aware of, as it…fed on a trickle of his magical energy.

' _Unlike what a wand should be…but not unlike the_ satori _I am bonded with.'_

He'd come to understand over the last few months just how _different_ _youkai_ were from the diminished beasts that remained in Britain, as well as how a _satori_ differed from the _kitsune_ or _kodama_ that Lovegood or Matou had partnered with.

The beasts sold as pets in Britain – owls and kneazles and the like – retained faint traces of their magical heritage, with owls having some ability to track individuals based on their true names and understand the intent of those addressing them, and kneazles being able to see patterns to an extent (thus explaining their ability to react violently or aggressively towards those who were suspicious or deceitful). Powerful _youkai_ like the ones his younger colleagues worked with were capable of far more than that, possessing powerful magic and being quite capable of _teaching_ their partners how to use such – which implied interesting things, because if a wizard could use these unusual magics, did that mean a wizard was part…creature?

And what did that imply about goblins, who hid their magic from wizards out of fear of wizards stealing their techniques, and who were quite capable of using wands to cast magic (or else the Ministry would never have prohibited wands going to non-humans)?

A _satori,_ however, operated in a different way, as it had simply integrated itself into his very being, gifting him with several potent abilities, such as its way of seeing the world, its ability to read – and alter – the thought patterns of other living things, and most interestingly, a way of grasping and replicating spells and other abilities with ease.

…coupled with his ring-given ability to shift into spirit form, his rate of learning and growth had become far faster than his peers, with few being able to truly test his limits.

Lovegood, Matou, Parkinson, Lockhart…and Lestrange, were exceptions to this, with Matou being something of a hard counter to his abilities due to the tools he wielded, Lovegood's fusion abilities being something he could not replicate, Parkinson and Lockhart being very good at deceiving his ability to read others, and Lestrange having an uncanny ability to see through and counter his abilities, which he hadn't originally thought her capable of.

' _But I digress.'_

The point was that, due to the _youkai_ bonded with him, he had some experience with being connected to other existences, and so recognized the wand as _alive._ Matou had been rather tight lipped about just _who_ had crafted this wand, and what exactly had gone into its construction, though he had confirmed that it was indeed quite… _unusual_ , much like the wand the younger boy had acquired for his own use earlier in the year.

Well, far be it for him to reject an unusual gift, especially one which might help him close the gap between his abilities and Matou's, though all the same, it was the Cherry and Dragon Heartstring wand that he registered as his 'official' wand, so the Ministry wouldn't have cause to ask…inconvenient questions about where his loyalties lay.

Invisible in the storm, George smiled as he felt a tug on his magic.

' _A clue…the artifact shard must be close…'_

And with it, likely some kind of guardian for the relic that he would be able to test his wand on, with the storm shielding him from any prying eyes. He was looking forward to it – and from the vague impressions of rage, impatience and a desire to destroy all in its path he sense from the wand – he wasn't the only one.

* * *

In his many years of life, Minister of Magic Lucius Malfoy had never really understood what it meant to be utterly helpless. He had always been a major figure in Britain, even before accepting an official position in the government, with the Malfoy family's considerable wealth and his skill with dealing with his peers, helping him find a way to deal with any mishap or…setback he encountered in life.

Perhaps the best display of his…acumen was when the Dark Lord had met his end while attempting to kill the Boy-Who-Lived, with the Death Eaters captured and placed on trial for their crimes. Lucius had successfully convinced a jury of his peers that his actions had not been his own – that he had been as much a victim as anyone else, forced into Lord Voldemort's service by the Imperius Curse. Afterwards, a few choice donations to charities to support "fellow victims" of the Dark Lord, use of his majority ownership of the _Daily Prophet_ to subtly influence the stories being published, and a few…small tokens of appreciation to Ministry personnel had allowed him to rehabilitate his reputation among all but the most stubborn of folk.

For the most part, the stubborn ones had been people like the last surviving Prewett and long-time Aurors like Alastor Moody, who held grudges and harbored deep suspicions but had no _concrete proof_ , and so were unwilling to destroy their reputations by going after an upstanding pillar of wizarding society.

He'd played the game of politics and image with some skill over the next few years, making himself virtually indispensable to wizarding society through charitable contributions, advice to Minister Fudge, and quiet support of one legislative measure or other, until at last, after the greatest tragedy in Britain's history, he had been chosen as Minister of Magic, entrusted with the heavy responsibility of leading the nation.

His long experience at putting on an act had been all that kept him going at first, given his grief at losing Narcissa, but he had managed, somehow, to keep things going, using the convenient fiction that Bulgaria had been behind everything and that the rest of the world conspired against the British people to unite what remained of his nation under one banner.

Perhaps it was unscrupulous, deceitful, dishonest of him to manipulate his fellow citizens so, but what choice had he had? If he had not acted decisively by calling the citizenry to arms, by giving them a target for their anger and hate, the nation would have no doubt collapsed into anarchy – becoming an easy target for whichever nation had attacked them to begin with.

Grief could be paralyzing – he couldn't use grief, no really. But rage and all the frenzied passions that came with it – those he could use. With proper direction of that emotional impetus, a Britain that had lost _half_ of its citizens overnight could still be strong, could become powerful enough to stand against whatever – or whoever – dared to stand in their way.

And the Boy-Who-Lived _understood_ that.

In accepting Lucius' invitation to become the British Youth Representative to the Wizengamout, Potter had declared himself in support of the Ministry, throwing his considerable popularity and influence behind its agenda and deeds, a bold statement that effectively put paid to the opposition, as they had no pole they could organize around to contest his policies.

Granted, the restrictions on foreigners and non-humans that had been imposed had the side-effect of destroying the reputation of people like Matou Shinji, but a few innocent lives were a small price to pay to keep Britain from imploding in on itself.

Had the Potions Champion accepted the generous offer of Citizenship that Lucius had extended, perhaps things would be different, with Matou being seen as a loyal friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, a "good foreigner" who stood with Britain in its time of need, but as it was, Malfoy had no real issue with the Japanese boy being cast as some kind of opportunistic villain.

After all, examples needed to be made for the sake of order, small evils committed to serve the greater good.

That was what he told himself, why he hadn't let himself take time away from his duties to mourn his late wife or to check up on his wayward son.

Everything he had done to create a strong Britain, all the sacrifices he had made, the evil he had knowingly committed – all of it had been part of an attempt to keep Draco safe from the fate that had befallen Narcissa, to at least _protect his son_ as he hadn't been able to protect his wife, but now…

…now Draco lay in a coma after striking down an unhinged Fred Weasley, with Luicius, for all his skill and power, utterly helpless to do anything to help him.

In the wake of the disastrous Capture the Flag match, the two had been brought back to Britain for treatment. Not to St. Mungo's, where the press might learn of their…infirmity, but to Hogwarts, where access was strictly controlled, and where Aurors could keep a watchful eye on the unused classrooms that had been converted into wards for them.

' _While I cannot keep rumors of what happened from spreading at Durmstrang, this incident needs to be kept out of the public eye in Britain until we decide how to present it.'_

It was tempting…very tempting, to simply classify Fred Weasley's actions as the result of foreign influence, given that he had spent a considerable amount of time in Japan, but that might affect the way the public saw the Boy-Who-Lived, who had spent _more_ time abroad than either of the Weasley twins, and Lucius knew he couldn't afford any…doubts as to Potter's reliability.

Worse, it was well-known that Draco had been spending a considerable amount of time with Matou's paramour, and with Draco having used some unknown – presumably foreign – spell to all but kill a Stone Cutter – one of the heroes that the youth had come to idolize – Lucius could easily see any accusations of foreign influence backfiring.

Badly.

So, until they understood why and how this incident had occurred – and at least one of the parties involved recovered from their aliment – it had been decided that keeping the incident hidden was probably the best response.

Which was why Lucius was standing in Draco's ward, watching Lily Engel, the slim red-haired Unspeakable who had been recommended to him by the Head of the Department of Mysteries, examine his comatose son with several arcane instruments, none of which he recognized.

Not that he really recognized her either, but then, he rarely spent time in the laboratories of the Department of Mysteries.

"Most curious," the woman noted, raising an eyebrow as she finished her examination and turned to face her superior. "You will be pleased to know that physically, there is nothing wrong with your son, Minister. The Healer attached to our Department did an excellent job at repairing the damage caused by his confrontation with Mister Weasley."

"...then why isn't he waking up, Miss Engels?" Lucius Malfoy asked quietly, frowning as he looked at the peacefully sleeping form of his son. "I presume you've ruled out the influence of…foreign magic?"

"Indeed. Aside from the lingering residue of phoenix song, however, there are no traces of foreign magic anywhere in his system, no indication that a curse or other spell is responsible for his condition," the Unspeakable answered. The woman seemed intrigued by his son's condition, which unnerved him somewhat. "In fact, there is very little magic in his system at all."

"How little?"

"Less than is found even in Squibs and Muggles, Minister," Engels replied, a statement that had Lucius' eyebrows shooting for the sky. "Frankly, the only time I have ever seen anything remotely like it is in victims of the Dementor's Kiss."

" _What?!"_ LuciusMalfoy exclaimed, his expression slipping into something frenzied before he managed to get it under control again. "…the Dementor's kiss?" he whispered, in disbelief.

"That is the only situation I am aware of where one's magic could be so diminished to the point that it does not replenish itself over time," the Unspeakable noted impassively, as if her superior's outburst had not happened at all. "I don't wish to go into the theory of it, but I trust you are aware that our capacity for casting spells, while practically inexhaustible, is not _actually so_?"

"Miss Engels, what is the relevance of this to my son's current condition?"

"Why, what he did to Mister Weasley, of course," the woman replied, a thoughtful expression coming over her features. "The other young man you had me examine."

"What about him?" Lucius snapped, shaking his head.

"As you are aware, his condition is rather different from your son's," Miss Engels recalled, frowning. "Despite our Healer's best efforts, _his_ physical condition remains unstable, with his magic in a…frenzied state, damaging him from within."

"…how so?"

"It burns his flesh. Freezes it. Rends it. Knits it back together in a way that leaves terrible scars. It stops the flow of blood, reverses it, sends it forward again. It is utterly uncontrolled, much as has occasionally be observed in Obscurials, save that in his case, the damage being done is mostly internally focused."

"…an Obscurial?" the Minister echoed. He vaguely remembered hearing the term once, but it had been so long ago…

"Ah, nevermind that, sir," Engels said with a frown. "The point is that Mister Weasley's case, his very magic is what is killing him."

"And you think this is linked to my son…how?"

"As you may recall, in the final moments of the ill-fated match, your son defeated Mister Weasley with what appeared to be a spear of light," the Unspeakable related. "A spell powerful enough to tear through two layers of dragonhide as if they were merely parchment."

"Yes, one that we think might have come from abroad. What of it?"

"Given the circumstances, I suspect it wasn't a spell at all, but the entirety of your son's magical energy, concentrated to such an extent that nothing his foe did could resist it," Lily Engels explained. The woman shook her head, looking towards a blank wall. "The spells we use today are incredibly efficient in their construction, using only a very small amount of our magic to great effect. That is why confrontations between wizards are generally contests of skill, which end with one side being disabled or killed, not contests of power and endurance."

"You're saying that my son found a way to tap his magic directly?" Lucius questioned, raising an eyebrow at this statement. "And defeated the Weasley boy through…accidental magic?"

"The principle is not dissimilar, given that before they are trained, young wizards accomplish very difficult feats without knowing quite how to do them using raw power," the Unspeakable allowed. "Once a wizard has been trained, they generally lose the ability to use their magic in such a…direct manner. As such, your son is quite a curious case."

"Do you have any idea _why_ or _how_ he could have done this?"

"I suspect his wand had something to do with it," Engels said quietly. "Especially given the phoenix song that was heard shortly before the…conclusion of the incident."

Lucius Malfoy sighed, seeming to slump in on himself as he heard this news.

"…will he recover?"

"Your son? Or Mister Weasley?"

"Both."

"In the case of the former, I do not know. We can keep him under observation for some time, with our Healer maintaining his physical state, but with his lack of magic…"

"…I suppose that's all I can ask," the Minister of Magic grunted, shaking his head as he tried to keep emotion from his voice. "And Mister Weasley?" he forced himself to ask, despite not really caring about the child who had precipitated this state of affairs.

"In his case, I suspect the answer is no," the Unspeakable said grimly. "Given what we have learned so far, my inclination would be to simply end his suffering, as his status as a pseudo-obscurial makes him potentially quite dangerous, even if the destructive effects of his magic are inwardly focused for now. My colleagues, however, believe that his…condition presents us with an interesting opportunity for…research."

"The decision is mine, I take it?"

"Yes, Minister."

It was tempting, _very, very tempting_ to simply order that Fred Weasley be given the mercy of death, given that even the Unspeakables did not believe he would recover. But…

'… _no one else should have to lose a child. And who knows, perhaps he will eventually wake.'_

Perhaps.

"…allow your colleagues to do as they wish," Lucius replied at last. "After all, if we are going to take the trouble to keep my son alive and watch over him, we may as well do the same with the Weasley boy. Fewer questions all around, don't you think?"

"Your will be done, Minister."

* * *

As he slipped from the howling storm into the dank quiet of a fetid cave, George Weasley found himself in quite a rather good mood. After all, at long last, his efforts had paid off, and he was close to securing one of the shards he needed…even if meant liberating it from a cave full of mountain trolls.

He suspected that if the weather were better, the trolls would have been out and about, looking for something to eat and generally defending their territory, with his task being to sneak past them into their den to steal the artifact without them being any the wiser, with the possibility of having to fight a troll or two lingering within the den before reaching it.

With conditions as unpleasant as they were, however, a full dozen had taken refuge within the vast cavern, huddling around the glow and warmth of the artifact shard as they fed on strips of meat torn from the smoked haunches of some unknown animal.

' _This could be troublesome…'_

After all, even if his ability had allowed him to slip past the boulder at the cavern's entrance, acquiring the shard would be a bit more difficult, especially as he was all but certain that the shard was enchanted to resist summoning or other magic.

' _Which means I either have to try a more indirect approach, as I did in the first task' –_ which wouldn't help him get it through the boulder – ' _or to physically seize the item so I can take it into spirit form with me…'_

To do the latter though, he would need to take a corporeal form, and doing that around so many hungry trolls – in a confined space, no less! – was decidedly unwise, as the lumbering beasts were deceptively fast for their size.

' _I could fight them, one at a time, since they pose no threat to me while in spirit form, but their magically resistant hide could make things quite a bit more difficult, and there are no convenient clubs or such I can levitate here.'_

He _could_ set off a massive explosion, but that would likely result in a cave-in, something that would be…mildly inconvenient, as it would bury – if not destroy – the relic he was after.

George almost scowled at the thought that perhaps he would need to wait for the storm to pass, wasting valuable time, though the expression faded, and almost without realizing it, his new wand was in his hand…and in his mind.

' _ **Kill.'**_ It seemed to whisper. _**'Destroy.**_ '

He looked upon its patterns, and then, _understanding,_ levelled it at the gathering of unsuspecting trolls.

"Die," he whispered, as cloud of living darkness emerged from the tip of the instrument, rushing towards the brutes, who had only a moment to react before it was upon them, engulfing the cavern.

George looked on and listened, feeling, and hearing the effects of his new wand, as the trolls _screamed,_ howls of pain and terror reverberating over and over in the cavern before – all too soon – the darkness dissipated, receding into the wand, leaving behind only dust and echoes.

And the artifact shard, shining as it floated in the air, untouched.

' _I see. The Ollivander wand just amplifies the effects of whatever I cast. This one however…'_

This one was geared entirely towards destruction – with its core being a living curse wished nothing more than to be unleashed upon his enemies, allowing him to wreak havoc with no cost, aside from the small trickle of magic it consumed.

' _Very curious indeed…'_

It was _thrilling_ , how it had simply ignored the resistance of the trolls, finding its way into their eyes, their noses, their mouths and all other orifices, ripping them apart from within, draining every scrap of life and magic from them. Dangerous, yes, but _thrilling_ all the same.

As he took physical form and approached the shard, George found himself grinning. That had been…easy. Far easier than he'd expected, despite the cleverness that the tournament organizers had showed in where they'd hidden this item, and what would have been a challenge to anyone else.

Even to him, had he not been equipped with his new wand – though he didn't think Lestrange would have said the same.

No, indeed. He rather thought she would exterminated every one of the trolls with ease – and enjoyed it as she did, her silver eyes bright as she cut them down – or watched them all die from the effects of a potion.

In a way, as he seized the shard that was his objective, he thought he understood the Beauxbatons potions champion a bit better now – or at least her preference for solitude.

After all, when one was within the safety of the walls of Durmstrang or some other school, one never knew who might be watching, who might be judging, who might decide to make it inconvenient to show one's true abilities.

Out here, away from the restrictions and confines of society, from the rules the weak imposed upon the strong, there was no need to hide one's abilities.

No need to hold back.


	49. An Unblinking Eye

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 49.** _An Unblinking Eye_

For all that she spent a great deal of time in the part of the United States that fell under the aegis of the Magical Congress of the United States of America and reported to its current head of state, Elesa Labelle, Potions Champion of Ilvermorny, was not, strictly speaking, a witch.

Nor, for that matter, was she a full-time student at the Wizarding School she had been chosen to represent, with much of her instruction taking place at an enchanted edifice in the Appalachian Mountains. The structure had originally been created to serve as MACUSA headquarters, but had been abandoned shortly thereafter due to the inconvenience posed by its distance from the cities where American wizards preferred to congregate.

Even if one could apparate, such a skill was of limited utility when individuals were scattered across a continent as large as North America, given that one could only apparate to places one had either visually seen or had physically been to beforehand – within a limited range, no less.

Not one to waste a perfectly serviceable installation, Illuminati magi had taken possession of the property sometime later, and had turned it into a training facility for their agents – one that still operated into the present day as the Graves Institute.

' _These days, of course, the Graves Institute is loosely affiliated with Ilvermorny, offering specialized training to a select group of graduates whose abilities and interests fall outside a standard wizarding curriculum.'_

Training which included fieldcraft and combat applications of magic, yes, but also global politics, economics, social manipulation and firearms handling – all things that prospective field agents of the Illuminati might find useful.

Agents like Elesa Labelle, who sat at a desk in a small, but well-lit room in the edifice, going over a stack of reports.

' _Granted, I'm a few years younger than most at the Institute but…that's because I'm not a witch. Or a magus, at that.'_

Both magi and practitioners of witchcraft required years of training to be effective in using their gifts: the former to learn how to open their Circuits and cope with the pain of pulling magical energy through channels humans had never been meant to possess; the latter, to learn how to consciously tap into the magical energy flowing through them and use it for something more useful than passively augmenting their health.

The Imbued, however, did not, but then, they were something of a special case, as every one of them on record had been born as a human lacking any magical potential whatsoever – something the Illuminati knew for a fact, given that they tracked the births and death of every individual in North America with such potential using the pseudo-spiriton powered LAPLACE observation platform.

"What's the current consensus by the thinktank? That people like me were empowered by the world to act as weapons in its defense?" Elesa asked, as her mentor and teacher, Rebekah Huygens – a young woman who, like her, was one of the most dangerous individuals in America – and an Illuminati operative – came through the door. "Something that bridges the gap between merely human intervention and an all-out response by Counter-Guardians?"

"There's a reason people like you are often called Gaia's Chosen," Rebakah responded quietly. "The sample size is…fairly small, as you know—"

"That's putting it lightly, isn't it? What with three in the last century, including me? Then another two in the century before that?" Elesa interjected, shaking her head. "Fairly small doesn't even begin to cover it."

"—but almost every Imbued we know of was empowered in response to a current or looming crisis." The analyst and spirit pacification specialist smiled grimly. "Granted, we don't have information on Imbued in other countries, but pattern seems consistent. Still, I suppose that leaves you wondering why you were Chosen, doesn't it, given that the situation isn't as grim as it seems during the time our Chairwoman was a mere field agent?"

"That it does," Elesa responded, shaking her head.

Chairwoman Vântoase had been Imbued during the height of the Great Depression, and the exploits of the squad she'd commanded during the Second World War had been nothing short of legendary, with the woman having fought Templars, brought psychic, vampiric Soviet super-soldiers to heel, and of course, prevented the end of the world at the hands of Nazi magi toying with the Spear of Destiny – one of several anchors that fastened reality onto illusion.

Those of her associate, John Harper, were not as well-known among the rank and file, because his interventions were subtler, but they had been no less pivotal to determining the course of history. It was he who had convinced Henry Stinson to remove Kyoto from the list of cities to be burned by nuclear fire, posed as an Enforcer of the Association to persuade a reluctant Albus Dumbledore to face his old friend – thereby neatly putting an end to the Grindelwald issue – or worked behind the scenes to ease the repeal of Rappaport's Law, setting the stage for the Illuminati to facilitate greater cooperation between the MACUSA, the US Government, and other magic using groups.

…all things considered, what her immediate predecessors had accomplished made for a rather difficult act to follow, especially as the world didn't seem to be in crisis, with the Cold War having recently _ended_.

"There is the current unrest in Britain," Rebakah Huygens pointed out. "Which may or may not boil over into the rest of Europe."

"Perhaps, but our current intelligence indicates that the happenings in Britain are regional, at best," Elesa noted, shaking her head. "Unless there's something like a second Grindelwald incident, there's nothing that would require the intervention of an Imbued."

"…except if time travel comes into play," her mentor mused aloud. "There was a time when that was a topic of intense research, among both the magical world and the mundane."

"Yes, I recall the Soviet Union being particularly interested in that, as well as the US Government at one point," the young operative murmured, her eyes narrowing as she recalled one example of particular note. "The Philadelphia Experiment was one such attempt which we had to…sabotage and cover up, yes?"

"Indeed. It does not do to be reckless with time, given the damage that a temporal paradox can cause in the present day." Miss Huygens' lips pressed together into a thin line as she shook her head. "We've seen it happen before, which is why the Labyrinth and certain of our key facilities are temporally shielded. Not that you require such."

While the mysteries of how Imbued were selected and their ultimate source of power remained unsolved, the metaphysics of what happened to those who _were_ Chosen had been well-documented, with their bodies and souls transformed through a union with an aspect of Gaia into implacable, nigh-immortal protectors of the balance, gifted with an intuitive understanding of how to shape the magical energy (the life-force of Gaia), the ability to travel freely through the Other Side of the World, and protection from any temporal interference.

"…I suppose not, though even with the price I paid to become what I am, temporal mechanics _still_ gives me a headache," the blonde groused, sighing in irritation as she looked at the collection of books around her and the notes on her desk.

Rebekah Huygens winced sympathetically.

Most members of the Illuminati, while aware of what Imbued were to some degree, had little idea of what the transformation process was like. Indeed, it was often – erroneously – assumed they just went to sleep one day, before waking up the next with a versatility envied by wizards and a potential that exceeded that of all but the greatest of magi, an assumption that the Board of Directors did not go out of their way to correct, as it minimized the likelihood of magical abuse of mundanes, even if it did mean that Miss Labelle were sometimes resented.

In truth, while the transformation _did_ take place overnight, it took about a week for newly Imbued individuals to stabilize, and during that period, it was not uncommon for their powers to go out of control, leading to considerable property damage, at the least. In that sense, it was not unlike the accidental magic of wizards, only instead of the comparatively small pool of energy such individuals possessed, Imbued were directly connected to the lifeforce of the world, with the effects of their losses of control being resultantly…large and varied.

In that regard, Elesa Labelle was no exception.

A little over three years ago, she had been a girl on the cusp of her teenage years, who'd wanted nothing more than to be a musician. She'd grown up in Connecticut – in Greenwich, if one wanted to be specific – with a supportive, fairly wealthy family, and friends who were more interested in science than sorcery.

The only magic she'd known growing up – the only one she'd ever wanted to practice – had been that of music. To her, there'd been nothing in the world like a live performance, with the sound and energy of the performers mixing with the emotions of the audience to create something truly sublime. It was something that could make the most hardened veteran weep, bring joy to the faces and hearts of the suffering, transport someone to another place and time.

And then one day, all that had gone up in flames.

Her childhood home had spontaneously caught fire in wee hours of the morning what investigators later concluded was a gas explosion, with everyone and everything within being consumed in the intense conflagration. Everyone but her, and that was only because she had been pulled out of reality into the Other Side of the World shortly after the fire began.

Shortly after she'd inadvertently started the fire due to her unstable soul being unable to handle being connected to the magical energy of the planet.

…when she reappeared in the middle of the night two weeks later, after stumbling through the dreamscapes of her peers and gaining some semblance of control over her abilities, only ruins remained.

There was nothing left.

Her home was gone. Her family was gone. She was presumed to have died in the fire. Her very innocence and joy had been burned away.

She'd wondered then if she'd gone mad, if the stress of lessons and finals together had led to a psychotic break, and if none of this was real.

Because if none of it was real, then maybe everyone was still alive.

Maybe she hadn't…maybe…

In the present, Elesa Labelle shook her head, a bitter smile flitting across her lips as she remembered the woman who had saved her from herself.

Anastasia Vântoase, or Ana, as the elder Imbued had insisted Elesa call her, had found her that day, a huddled ball of grief collapsed amongst the dust and ashes of her childhood. The older woman had sat next to her as if it was perfectly natural for her to do so, waiting silently until she was ready to speak.

"Who are you?" Elesa had asked eventually, since the statuesque redhead her imagination had conjured up didn't seem to be going anywhere.

"Ana," the woman had replied. "And you?"

"…I don't know," Elesa had admitted, still staring at the charred remains of what used to be her house. "I don't…"

"This was your house, child?"

The question had been a gentle one, but it had set her to weeping all over again, with the woman comforting her for a time.

"Right about now, you're thinking you've gone mad," Ana had commented, with Elesa looking up sharply. "Because if you were mad, then none of this would be real. None of this would be your fault."

"… _what_?"

"It's not, you know. And you're not."

"…not…?"

"It's not uncommon for people like us to lose control when we are made what we are," Ana had reflected, conjuring up a small vortex of green light in one of her hands, before extinguishing it. "Our flesh and spirit reshaped to serve some higher purpose." The redhead had chuckled, a low and bitter sound that had no mirth in it whatsoever. "It is a curse, you know, but also a gift."

"A…gift?"

"Every curse is a gift from someone's point of view, if not entirely wanted. Just as every gift can be a curse." Ana had chuckled once more and sighed. "People like us, we're doubly cursed. Cursed with power, yet cursed with free will."

"Cursed?"

"You will see the end of days," the woman had intoned, as if reciting something from memory, speaking the words that echoed in Elesa's mind after days in the dreaming. "You will see the dawning of a new age."

The words had come easily to the tip of her tongue.

"To bring it about, or to preserve the world you know. To save, or to destroy. All this is within your power," Elesa had whispered.

"You are of the Chosen, and so must choose," Ana had supplied. "For you are cursed with free will…"

"Make the right choices…" Elesa had concluded, frowning as she looked – really _looked_ at the woman sitting beside her, at the immaculate white business suit the elder woman wore, the knives of eldritch green spinning around her hands, at the sense of quiet confidence radiating from her, as if she was perfectly at home here – and anywhere. "How did you…?"

"We're not so different, you and I," 'Ana' had said, the knives shifting into a serpent of flames that Elesa had flinched back from before fading away to nothingness. "Though I suppose more formal introductions are in order. My name is Anastasia Vântoase, Chairwoman of the Illuminati, and like you, a Chosen of Gaia."

That was the day she had taken up the name Elesa Labelle, as her old one was no longer…any good to anyone, really. The day she had been recruited into the Illuminati, the day when she had gained a new home, a new purpose, a new _family –_ if a somewhat dysfunctional one _._

She'd learned much in the years since.

That despite all the information and influence the Illuminati had, no one had been able to predict who might be Imbued.

That while the Chosen of Gaia were gifted with a brand of immortality by resurrection, that did not mean that each death was not…unpleasant, as she'd discovered after an incident involving cultists in the frozen north trying to summon Ithaqua.

That she was an instrument the world had empowered to serve the Greater Good, and that the actions of her predecessors had left her with very large shoes to fill.

…and that in a lot of ways, the magical side of the world wasn't really that different from the mundane, as both were filled with people.

She'd spent her first year after recruitment at the Labyrinth, being trained in the basic skills that all Illuminati were expected to know and doing research into the moonlit world so that she would better understand it.

Her next two years had been spent at Ilvermorny and other places administered by the MACUSA, where she'd lived among witches and wizards, learned their habits and foibles, become accepted as one of them – even becoming their Potions Champion, and a popular model among people her age.

This year, she'd been embedded at the Graves Institute, working at the intersection of the Muggle and Magical worlds, while simultaneously preparing for her mission to investigate the Isle of Thule – and of course, to deliver certain documents to the representatives of the Egyptian Center for Alchemical Studies she had been informed would be present.

In the present, Rebekah Huygens, the specialist who had been assigned to train and mentor her, sighed and shook her head.

"You're frustrated, aren't you?"

"I am, but then I'm a teenager – I'm allowed to be frustrated, especially when it seems like I'm not making any progress," Elesa pointed out peevishly. "Aren't I?"

"I suppose, though you know better than to mention that to anyone else," Rebekah chided, her words reproachful. "While your relative youth _is_ one of the things that sets you apart, it isn't always in a good way. Among us, you are known to be one of the Imbued, and so have been given a measure of respect, but you know as well as I do that until you accomplish something of great worth yourself, you will also be the target of resentment. After all, Imbued are chosen to serve in a time of crisis, and there isn't one that most of us can see. Not yet."

"And no one wants to hear that dark days are coming?" Elesa commented wryly.

"Not if we can't see what might cause them, no," the older woman commented. "Speaking of which, do you have anything to report since the last time we talked?"

"Well, there is the fact that Matou Shinji, the British Potions Champion, was reported to have died several months ago, given news reports from his hometown," the blonde stated with a frown. "Yet he is clearly alive and well."

"Anything else?"

"The Russians are probably up to something. They always are," Elesa noted diffidently. "I think the cold and alcohol probably addles their brains."

"Possible. Or it could be lingering Templar influence," Rebekah replied. "Russia has always been one of their favorite staging areas, after all."

"…you would know."

"…yes. Yes I would," the brunette answered quietly. There was a moment of silence, in which Elesa knew better than to speak, but that moment passed. "Go on, Miss Labelle."

"The Japanese Champion is likely to be dangerous on the field, given that her well of power seems as limitless as my own, but she seems the dutiful sort," the young Chosen noted. "I think if anything, I might end up working with her eventually."

"That's not out of the realm of possibility. I imagine Director Harper would be glad to see such a collaboration, especially if she is as powerful as you and President Quahog seem to believe. If it comes to a confrontation, don't hold back too much, but try not to kill her either. Not everyone has your ability to cheat death."

"…that I am very much aware of," Elesa noted pointedly. It was Rebekah's turn to be silent, knowing that this was something of a sensitive area for her mentee. "Was there anything else you wanted to share?"

"Several small things. First, I'm still concerned about the possibility of temporal manipulation," the brunette voiced, crossing her arms. "Especially considering the age at which you were Chosen, given half a decade in advance of an incident is the earliest we have seen someone become Imbued. Coupled with the apparent lack of any major crises these last four years."

"You're suggesting that I was Chosen so early because my age will be a factor in getting me in position to intervene in whatever is coming?"

"Yes. Otherwise, it should not have been necessary for a new Imbued to be Chosen, given that we have two currently active," Rebekah commented dryly. "As much as it is nice to have the extra firepower, I think Chairwoman Vântoase or Director Harper would have been able to manage. No, if you were Chosen, there has to be a reason for it, even if we don't know what it might be."

"I appreciate the faith, Rebekah. Sometimes…"

"Sometimes it is difficult, especially at your age."

"Anything else?" Elesa inquired, not dignifying the comment about her youth with a response.

"Well, our contact in the Order of Assassins sent us a report a couple days ago," the spirit pacification specialist noted. "Apparently, Grindelwald is alive. With Voldemort possessing him as a wraith."

"…you know, I'm getting the feeling that _somehow,_ Britain might end up being tied to the cause of the coming trouble after all."

"I couldn't imagine why."


	50. In Good Conscience

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 50.** _In Good Conscience_

As he stood alone in his dress robes, his features thrown into sharp relief by the spotlight shining down on him, Harry Potter sighed inwardly. While the British Youth Representative was happy to serve the nation that had become his home, he found himself irritated that the Wizengamot had summoned him _yet again_ to give a statement on the current antics of his friend, Matou Shinji, especially as it called him away from far more important work.

He had been working with Albert Runcorn, head of the Office of Information, a newly established division of the Department of War, on how to ensure that no sensitive information was being leaked from the Ministry (or other secure sites such as Hogwarts) to foreign agents – and how to neutralize any that were discovered discretely.

The fact that the Headmaster of Karkaroff had possessed a _physical copy_ of the Daily Prophet suggested that the Ministry's ban on communications outside the country was being flouted somehow, and even if the information in the _Prophet_ could be slanted at times, that didn't mean that it couldn't be _useful_ to a hostile government.

After all, the lies one chose to tell were often just as revealing as the bits of truth.

In response to this, the Department of War had done two things: 1) Establish a central clearing house for the Owl Post, through which all mail in Magical Britain would pass; and 2) Take direct control of the _Daily Prophet_.

The first was necessary so the contents could be properly screened for information that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, or, of course, activity that was otherwise…irregular, and really wasn't that big a step up from screening all mail to and from Hogwarts, which they were already doing.

The second had been done so they could alter the printing presses to include a unique number and magical signature on each copy of the Prophet, as well as making them impossible to copy without specialized equipment. That way, they could not only find out what people were doing with the newspapers they received, but also track down the spy, if he were to act once more.

Beyond that, the Office of Information had begun several other key initiatives to make Britain safe again.

One of the most significant was tracking down anyone who had bought a Vanishing Cabinet in the last few years, given that these items presented a major security risk to Britain, as they could be used to smuggle contraband, correspondence, or even people from one location to another without passing through the OoI's sphere of influence. While the Ministry had been content to allow them to be bought and sold during peacetime, now that Britain's very existence was at stake, it was unwilling to risk these artifacts being in the hands of civilians.

Thanks to these items being registered by the Ministry, it had proven simple enough to find the original purchasers of these items, though from there things often became more troublesome. Sometimes, a cabinet – or an entire pair, had been gifted to another – or others, with the original buyer knowing nothing of where they had gone. Sometimes, the items had been resold by someone who didn't know their value. And sometimes, they were simply "lost."

Knowing that a heavy-handed approach (e.g. sending in Aurors to confiscate them from their buyers) could be perceived quite negatively, the Office of Information had taken a softer touch, announcing that possessing of such items was now illegal, and offering an amnesty – and a generous bounty of cold, hard coin for either cabinets themselves or information that led to the retrieval of one.

As it happened, a good number of wizards were willing to inform on their fellow citizens for the right incentive – and so, many who tried to hide such cabinets had been discovered, and their lands and assets confiscated for their disloyalty to the Ministry.

The Office of Information had also been in talks with the Committee on Experimental Charms about deploying a new spell they had recently devised, one which could give the Ministry the location of any wizard or witch who used certain key words. So far, the only word they had agreed on was _Portus,_ as all had agreed that only a subversive or an enemy of the state would be interested in making unsanctioned Portkeys, but the Boy-Who-Lived felt that didn't go far enough.

Indeed, where the Head of the Office of Information simply wanted to use it to track those who might be disaffected or disloyal, Harry thought it would be a much wiser idea to simply use a set of words that would allow them to track _everyone_.

' _After all, if they're not doing anything wrong, they have nothing to be afraid of, right? This_ would _be for their own protection.'_

So he had been in the process of arguing to Albert Runcorn when the summons from the Wizengamot had come, by way of enchanted paper airplane, with the older man shaking his head as he read the contents of the missive.

"If you ask me, your friend is stirring up more trouble than he's worth, Potter," Runcorn had said gruffly, shaking his head. "Maybe he helped you once, but here and now? He's dangerous. To himself, and to you."

"Even so, sir, he's my friend," Harry had replied. "And whatever else he is, I know he's a good person. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything he's done."

"I'm sure he thinks so," Runcorn had grunted. "We are all heroes in our own stories, after all. Well, except those of us who are supporting characters."

Harry had managed a chuckle.

"I'll try not to take too long."

"See that you don't. This whole thing should have been handled by Magical Games and Sports, not the full Wizengamot, but…"

"…that was disbanded, yes. Since I can't do anything about that, I'll just have to live with it."

Still, now that he was standing once again before the Wizengamot, dealing with the fallout of his friend's actions _once again_ , the Boy-Who-Lived found himself more than little tired of this nonsense. He'd gone through this whole rigmarole more times than he'd cared to count, given all the oddities associated with his oldest friend.

When it had come to the attention of the Ministry that Shinji had bought quite a few Vanishing Cabinets, for instance, some had wanted to raid his manor, stating that it was the perfect opportunity to do so while the Potions Champion was stuck at Hogwarts and Durmstrang. Harry had successfully convinced them otherwise, given that whatever they thought of him, Shinji was _Potions Champion_ , representing Britain on the world stage, and given his travel restrictions, it wasn't as if he could be acting as the agent of some foreign power. Besides, in the event that they wanted to recruit him after the Tournament, it would not look good if they had raided his house.

It would be one thing if they'd had evidence that Shinji had done something wrong, but with none, and not even knowing if the Cabinets were even there?

That was just foolishness.

"Representative Potter," the acting Chief Warlock address him.Minister Malfoy was not present, as the man had better things to do than chair a hearing, so a substitute - Damien Rhodes, he thought the dark-skinned man's name was, though he wasn't certain - had been appointed to act in his place. "We thank you for coming before us so quickly."

"It was no trouble," Harry answered, looking at the man, and at the sea of purple-robed figures seated behind him. "It is my pleasure to be of service." He inclined his head slightly, with the man returning his nod.

"Then let us begin," Rhodes spoke simply. "For the record, we have gathered here today to discuss the recent actions of the British Potions Champion, with particular regard to whether he is tarnishing the honor of our nation and needs to be replaced."

As a Champion, after all, Matou Shinji was something of a celebrity, and his choices and deeds reflected positively – or negatively – on the people who he had been chosen to represent.

Which meant that the fact that he was known to be an inveterate womanizer – or at least painted as one by the _Prophet –_ and a cause of scandal and outrage, was very trying to the Wizengamot, who wished that the boy would at least be _discreet_ about his affairs.

The story of Matou Shinji, like that of his fellow Stone Cutters, was fairly well known in one version or another, with almost all variants mentioning that since the death of Sialim Sokaris, the boy named Matou Shinji had been a bit…different than most of his peers, darker, more driven, _dangerous_ , becoming skilled in the combat arts and seeking comfort in the arms of lonely young girls who he charmed with sweet words and forbidden knowledge, until they were his completely.

Hermione Granger had been the first and most obvious example, of his targets, having become so attached to him that when he finally moved on to another, the shock of it had driven her from Hogwarts completely.

Then there was Luna Lovegood, the boy's current lover – at least officially, who he had left Granger for, and with whom he had gone on a quest to obtain a quite unusual familiar. She, too, was a Stone Cutter, and was…more than a little unusual.

There was Pansy Parkinson, who some had suspected might be his next potential conquest, though until now, he'd done nothing to confirm it.

….and then there was whatever was happening in Durmstrang.

By now, most had heard how Matou Shinji had volunteered to become the bodyguard of the French Veela, though opinions were split as to whether she had subverted him with her wiles, or whether he had freely chosen to follow her because he wanted to get into her knickers. Harry, of course, had told those who would listen that it was neither, that Shinji meant well, and was only trying to limit the damage to Britain's reputation, but…

…he hadn't been entirely believed.

What was less defensible was how the Potions Champion spent an inordinate amount of time around Durmstrang with Rachelle Lestrange, the Beauxbatons Potions Champion, who _just so happened_ to look like a more mature Luna Lovegood (and shared a last name with Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Witch who had tortured two Aurors to insanity, and hadn't _that_ fact been played up in the papers?). Sparring and working on potions, Harry could understand, since it made sense to learn from one's competitors, but…spending every free moment he could with her? Sitting with her at meals? _Bathing with her in the hot springs of Durmstrang?_

That alone would have brought Wizengamot pause, though the brazenness of his most recent act eclipsed that entirely.

"Representative Potter, are you aware of Champion Matou's…Arctic expedition, shortly after the announcement of the Second Task?" Rhodes probed.

"I am," Harry replied, with but a moment's hesitation. "What of it?"

"Do you have any…special information on why he, Lestrange, and Parkinson decided to disappear into the wilds?" the man inquired. "Or do you agree that they simply wanted privacy for some debauched, hormonally-driven…affair?"

Harry's pause was somewhat longer this time.

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm sure the Champion has a perfectly reasonable explanation for this that we're simply not aware of," the Boy-Who-Lived spoke carefully. "We should at least give him the benefit of the doubt."

"We have done so on multiple occasions, Representative Potter, and on your word alone," Rhodes stated blandly. "And on each occasion, he has gone on to do worse. There are limits on what sort of behavior this august body will tolerate from a Champion of Britain. And if he indeed has some reason for his choice of companions on this ill-advised expedition besides his…youthful desires, surely Miss Parkinson would have advised us of this?"

That was the _other_ complication here, given that Pansy Parkinson's freedom of movement between Hogwarts and Durmstrang stemmed entirely from her being assigned to report on the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament by the _Daily Prophet_.

Heading off on an excursion with the Potions Champion and one of his French paramours was _not_ covered under her remit, and frankly, since the Prophet had come under the control of the Ministry, was liable to lead to her assignment being canceled altogether, with someone more reliable and less swayed by hormones, like Rita Skeeter, taking her place.

After all, there were rules and boundaries that a journalist was not supposed to break, that in their eyes, Miss Parkinson had _already_ broken. The fact that she – a journalist – was sleeping with the Potions Champion, called every one of her reports into question.

Even if she hadn't done anything wrong, the appearance of misconduct mattered.

…and because of it, they almost certainly were going to deny her the privilege of representing Britain's news media at the Potions Championship, due to her ethics violation. Even sending a conspiracy theorist like Xenophilius Lovegood would cause less scandal than…a reporter who was engaged in a relationship with the person she was supposed to report on.

"Perhaps she did not report it because she did not think she would be believed," the Boy-Who-Lived said softly, holding up a hand as Rhodes stiffened. "I don't offer this as an excuse for her actions, just as a possible explanation."

"You are willing to vouch for her, then?"

Harry nodded.

"And the Potions Champion?"

"Yes."

The man named Rhodes sighed and shook his head.

"If I may ask, Mister Potter, why?"

"Because no matter what he's said to have done, I know that he's not that kind of person," the Boy-Who-Lived stated with sincerity. "The person you paint him as would not have stood by me during my first year at Hogwarts, would not have fought beside me against the Acromantulae at Hogwarts, would not have stood vigil by Miss Lovegood's bedside after she fell into a coma last year. As strange as he may act, as…ill-advised his words may seem, there _is_ a reasonable explanation for what he is doing. There always is."

' _Even if he doesn't always tell me what that explanation is, and keeps his share of secrets. That just how Shinji is, really.'_

"And if we asked you to take on the mantle of Champion, with all the rights and privileges thereof, given how Matou Shinji's actions reflect on Britain's honor?"

The question hung in the air, and just as with every other time it had been asked, Harry Potter was sorely tempted.

"…respectfully, I cannot," he finally answered, after what must have been half a minute. At least.

"Representative, we realize you have refused in the past, but please, consider the circumstances," Rhodes pressed, his eyes hard. "We have given the current Champion many chances. Each and every time, he has brought shame and scandal to our shores. Whether he means well or not is quite immaterial. He was warned, yet he persists."

"Sir, with all due respect, I am not refusing because I'm being stubborn."

"Then what, praytell, is the reason?"

"There are three, actually," Harry noted, ticking them off on his fingers. "First, unlike our current Champion, I have not been focusing on preparing for the Championship, but on other matters in Britain. If I were to take his place, I would be nowhere near ready by the time it was time to compete. Matou Shinji was – and is – our best hope of victory."

"Second?"

"Second, the Championship is a deadly business, from what I have read. More dangerous than the Tri-Wizard Tournament, certainly. While I am not afraid of dying, I would rather die serving my country doing something meaningful, not seeking personal glory."

"…and third?"

"Third, our country is at war, and I can do much more for our nation as the Youth Representative and the Boy-Who-Lived, than I ever could as a Champion. In the end, the Potions Championship is only a demonstration of skill, with little at stake. The conflict in which we are engaged has our very survival at stake."

"…very well, Representative, you have made your point. Seeing as we lack another candidate for the post, he will retain his slot for now. We would ask that you speak to the Champion and warn him that this manner of behavior is _not_ acceptable, however, no matter his intentions. We do not wish to withdraw from the Potions Championship, given it will soon be upon us, but if it comes to it, far better the embarrassment of not participating than sponsoring a foreigner whose lechery brings shame to us all."

Harry met the man's eyes and nodded, once.

"Very well. In that case, I believe this hearing is adjourned."


	51. Infinite Recursion

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 51.** _Infinite_ _Recursion_

' _This is the place where it all began.'_

Standing at the center of Fuyuki Central Park, a vast field of grass and trees that was deserted at nearly all hours, Fujou Kirie shivered. Not because of the cold, though it was perhaps a bit nippy to be wearing the traditional red and white garb of a _miko_ , nor because of the wind, for the air was still and heavy this afternoon, but because as one descended from a great lineage of mediums, she could feel – could _see –_ the echoes of what had once been all around her.

Grief.

Resentment.

Despair.

Regret.

The grudges of those who had died in the inferno that had destroyed a major swathe of Fuyuki on the west bank of the Mion river, invisible wounds in the psychic landscape of the city that lingered long after their physical counterparts had been hidden away from sight, with developers taking advantage of the new cleared real estate to raise spires of glass and metal where their predecessors of wood and stone had been burned into ash.

For the most part, at least.

A scar remained at the very heart of the city, centered around the extensive plot of land that had been set aside for the Fuyuki Civic Center Complex and the parklands around it, a structure that had been intended to replace the old City Hall in Miyama, as the city had once been called, a symbol of Fuyuki's ambitions to become a _modern_ city, rather than one that was mired in the past, a center of industry, commerce, and culture instead of a mere backwater.

…Sadly, it, like the ambitions it represented, had been put to the torch, and the spirit of Fuyuki's people had never fully recovered from being put on the back foot by the loss of the symbol in which they'd placed so many of their hopes, invested so much time, effort, and expense.

And though humans often proved surprisingly capable of ignoring unpleasant realities when it suited them, rebuilding the Civic Center in the wake of the disaster would have been in poor taste, at best, given that it was from there that the conflagration that had gutted the Shinto development had begun, twisting the complex in people's minds from a symbol of prosperity and hope to a reminder of helplessness and loss.

As such, those who had been placed in charge of restoration efforts – and had been given the unenviable choice of deciding what to do about the destroyed complex – had chosen to repurpose the plot into an urban park, intending that the space be used for passive recreation by the denizens of the city.

Sadly, things hadn't worked out, with the people of Fuyuki – even children – shying away from it, as something within them reacted viscerally to being anywhere near the parkland. It wasn't just the idea of what had happened there or the story of it that made them… _uncomfortable_ , since even children who hadn't been alive when the disaster happened had an instinctive aversion to the place. On paper – and in photographs – it seemed the very picture of what a park should be: a refuge from the concrete jungle that surrounded it, yet in person, there was something _off_ about it.

In the beginning, a few visitors had come by, but their numbers had tapered off rather quickly, with those who had braved it feeling unclean long after leaving its soil, as if there something lurking there, something unclean, something _wrong_ lingering just beyond the edge of their perception.

' _But not beyond mine…'_ thought Fujou Kirie, who swallowed as her spirit sight revealed an ink-black miasma hovering in the air all about her, wrought of layers upon layers of grudges. She'd seen other places in the city afflicted with such regrets, but this was on a completely different level.

"Ara…the corruption is thicker here than in the Sea of Trees," Fujou Kohaku murmured, the usual smile absent from her lips. Having been trained as a spiritualist, being here felt odd, as if she was surrounded by oil instead of air, oil that seeped through her clothes and into her pores, oil that threatened to choke her with each breath, oil that stained everything it touched.

Or would have, had the ebon bow slung over her back not kept the miasma at bay, with the living grudges recoiling from its presence – and those of the silver-tipped arrows she carried.

Speaking of which…

"Are you well, Kirie-sama?" Kohaku inquired of her mistress. The elder magus was quite a bit more sensitive than she was to such things, after all, being of the main family, lacked a _hama yumi_ of her own to protect her, and had not gone through the trial that she and Shiroe-sama had.

"Well enough, Kohaku-san," the older woman responded gravely, closing her eyes as she focused, the miasma recoiling from her as she touched the length of cloth-wrapped metal her brother had entrusted to her when he heard she would be visiting Fuyuki. "In any case, I think this is the place."

"Where Shiroe-sama…"

"Yes."

For Fujou Kirie, visiting Fuyuki City hadn't exactly been something she had wanted to do, given how her parents had died there almost a decade ago, but when she'd learned _why_ they'd been there to begin with, she didn't really feel like she had a choice in the matter.

' _They came here because they felt a growing spiritual disturbance in this spiritual land, as if a_ tatarigami _would soon be born. And as onmyouji, it was their duty to stop such an occurrence if they could.'_

Shortly thereafter, they had died in the fire that swept through the city shortly, though to their credit, no _tatarigami_ had emerged from the city to wreak destruction upon Japan, indicating that they'd succeeded in containing or banishing it – or else that something or someone else had.

' _Not that we know exactly what happened due to Church and the Association investing a significant amount of influence and material resources into covering up the events of the Grail War.'_

Important records had been erased or lost, certain projects had been quietly backed – or discouraged – and material evidence of the conflict – for example, the orphans which had lost their families in the fire – had been made to simply disappear, with no one being the wiser.

The willingness of these organizations to resort to such blatant and extensive manipulations had unnerved the powers of _Mahoutokoro_ , though the territorial attitude many Association magi had towards their lands and the Church's close association with the Tohsaka family had made pursuing a fact-finding mission – or intervention – in Fuyuki a low priority, in light of the "death" of the Fujous in a "car accident."

Until now, that is.

' _Tohsaka Rin, the proper Second Owner, is in London, being courted by the Matou scion. The Archmagus Matou Zouken, acting-Second Owner, and the entirety of his family, is dead. And the Executor of the Church, Kotomine Kirei, has been recalled to Rome.'_

And with no magi (or representative of foreign powers) remaining in Fuyuki at present, there was a rare opportunity for _Mahoutokoro_ to send an agent to do a thorough investigation to ascertain the state of the spiritual land.

Two agents, rather – Fujou Kirie, who had been selected due to the sensitivity of her spiritual abilities (rather more powerful than those of her brother, even if he was the more powerful in combat), and Fujou Kohaku, her relative, who would serve as her bodyguard and general assistant.

Even in their short time together, Kirie had found that her cousin had an uncanny gift for acting – for putting on whatever face or persona she thought most advantageous when dealing with others, as well as a certain unflappability in situations that would reduce many others to gibbering terror, such as seeing the evil at the heart of the Sea of Trees…or Fuyuki's own heart of darkness.

"We should purify this place, if we can," Kirie found herself saying as she opened her eyes, looking uneasily at the darkness all around her. "For a city where people live to be worse off than Aokigahara – it is sickening."

"That may be difficult, Kirie-sama, as there are no vengeful spirits to slay here," Kohaku noted, seeming almost…disappointed. "Simply grudges, and collections of grudges. Almost as if they were parts of a single great being."

"…such as a _tatarigami_?"

"I would not know, Kirie-sama. I have never encountered one."

"Perhaps not," Fujou Kirie noted grimly. "Even so, as _onmyouji_ , it is our duty to do what we can." _'And as a Fujou, it is my duty to finish what my family began, years ago.'_ "I believe your nekomata can manipulate grudges and curses, yes?"

"This is so, Kirie-sama," Kohaku said deferentially. "What did you have in mind?"

The elder Fujou took a deep breath, withdrawing a wooden wand with two zigzagging paper streamers from her robes.

"Using your familiar's abilities, and mine, we can collapse the grudges in this park, into a single spirit which we can then combat and exorcise."

"That may be dangerous, Kirie-sama," Kohaku warned, brows knitting together in concern. "Concentrating this many grudges into a single spirit…"

"…it would almost be like a proto-Tatarigami, yes. I know it is risky. But we don't really have a choice, Kohaku-san."

"And why is that, Kirie-sama? No one comes to this park, to this place of broken dreams. It has been abandoned, so the affliction harms no one. Why not simply leave it?"

Fujou Kirie smiled bitterly.

"Just because something has been afflicted by something from which it cannot recover on its own, does not mean it should be abandoned." _'…as I was abandoned.'_ "Aside from that, this place is one of the spiritual anchors of Fuyuki, along with the Temple and the house of the Second Owner."

"Why us?"

"Because we are here. We are Fujou. This is who and what we are."

Silence reigned for a moment before Kohaku sighed and nodded. A small sound, really, and one far quieter than the rasp of steel as the redhead drew her blade – the five-hundred-year-old katana called the _Kuji_ _Kanesada,_ a blade crafted to sever the souls of men _._

"Then we had best begin, Kirie-sama."

"Indeed," Fujou Kirie intoned, thrusting her _gohei_ into the air as the darkness began to gather.

* * *

Half a world away, Fleur Delacour found herself relaxing for the first time in weeks, luxuriating in the embrace of the warm, bubbling waters of a hidden hot spring. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as she reflected that it had been entirely too long since she'd enjoyed the pleasure of a proper bath, as such things were not easy to come by in the arctic wastes.

' _I 'ave found most of ze relic shards I require…'_

Enough that she had begun to piece them together, and had an idea of what was missing, yet not enough to discern the function of the completed artifact. At least there were only two or three more pieces to go, as there was little time remaining – a week, at most.

' _Ave ze ozer champions finished?'_

The part-Veela didn't know, really, though she imagined that Viktor Krum might have already completed his search and returned to Durmstrang, as he'd been the first to set out into the cold and no doubt already knew the layout of the isles intimately. Perhaps, even now, he was enjoying the simple comforts the castle had to offer while she and the Hogwarts Champion continued to wander. Comforts like solid stone walls, the hot springs, a proper bed, and more – things she hadn't really appreciated before embarking on the Second Task.

' _I zought of Durmstrang as primitive, as its facilities are far more primitive than those of Beauxbatons, but in the north…'_

…even the austere conditions the students of the school endured were far superior to braving the cold alone, with nothing but a wand and whatever one could carry on one's person.

On her first day out of the castle, she'd almost collapsed from exhaustion, as she hadn't realized how taxing it was to keep herself warm for a prolonged period with nothing more than her instinctive affinity for fire. She'd quickly learned that it was more effective to enchant her clothing to keep her warm and dry, something she'd never had to worry about at Beauxbatons, though she was by no means a master enchanter.

On her third day of bumbling about, she'd run afoul of a patrol of gytrashes, and had nearly forgotten they were resistant to fire. She had been forced to use her song to daze them all, while she tried spell after spell to drive them off – only succeeding once she thought of the simple wand-lighting charm.

By the fifth day, she'd run out of the rations – bread, dried fruit, and meat – she'd packed, and had only kept herself from starving by ambushing – and defeating – a den of trolls, luring them out from their cave one at a time before forcing snowballs enchanted with _confringo_ down into their gullets, after which she'd helped herself to skewers of some animal being roasted over a roaring fire – and the first of the artifact shards she'd sought.

By the end of the first week, she'd learned that seaweed could be eaten, that certain plants that grew in the cold of Svalbard were not to be trusted, and could cause hallucinations if ingested – as well as how to create snow caves and Quinzee shelters to keep her warm if she could not find a natural cave to sleep in.

By the end of the second, she'd become quite proficient with conjuring up spears and spikes of ice both to hunt the reindeer of Svalbard for their meat and thick fur (the latter of which had been particularly helpful as a way to keep her warm, but had sometimes confused her as to which animals were healthy and which were half-starved themselves), while driving away dangerous beasts which sought to steal her kills.

By the end of the third week, the part-Veela had mostly stopped wondering if she might run into Matou's party, or into one of her competitors, given how expansive Svalbard could be, and how they'd all left at different times, choosing to put what energy and brainpower she had towards more practical concerns, like surviving and completing the Second Task.

Which was why she'd been so surprised when she'd stumbled upon the cloaked form of George Weasley, the Champion of Hogwarts, roasting a sizzling haunch of some beast – reindeer from the smell of it – over pale blue flames in a cavern she'd just begun to scout to see if it would be suitable for a good night's sleep.

"Hello, Miss Delacour," the golden-eyed boy had greeted, a warm smile on his face as he caught sight of her. "You're certainly a sight for sore eyes."

"Weas…ley…" she'd said slowly, not used to speaking after weeks of silence. "Vat…are you doing 'ere?"

"Same as you, I expect," the boy had replied easily. "Needing to a place to shake off the cold."

Not that he'd looked cold or in any way uncomfortable, wearing a clean, unrumpled Durmstrang uniform, and otherwise seeming perfectly groomed and at ease, as if he hadn't been out in the wilderness these past weeks.

"…you…'ave been here for some time?"

"Enough to explore the caverns a bit, yes," George had answered, an odd expression playing at the corner of his lips. "I imagine you'll be pleased to know that there are natural hot springs deeper in. The perfect temperature for a nice, hot soak..."

"Would you…"

"Mind if you joined me? Not at all, Miss Delacour," the redhead had said easily. "It has been a bit lonely these past weeks, and I could do with a bit of company."

In the conversation that had followed, Fleur had slowly come to realize three things.

First, when she'd entered the cave, she'd had her allure at the highest level possible, as controlling it had not exactly been a priority out in the wilderness. Second, George Weasley's reactions and demeanor had remained consistent as she clamped down on her allure, with the young man remaining in perfect control of his body and his faculties – even in the face of a power that should have driven him mad with lust and desire.

' _I 'ave never met someone who vas immune…'_

He hadn't struggled or lost his composure for a moment – something that Fleur could hardly believe, given that anyone who was attracted to women should be affected to some degree – and she was fairly sure that he _was,_ just as he was a rather attractive individual himself.

And third – she had missed the taste of chocolate more than she had even begun to imagine, something she'd only learned after George had offered her a steaming mug of hot cocoa – from a small packet he'd apparently brought for personal use.

"…vy did you?"

"Oh, I always like to be prepared," George had noted, his golden-eyed gaze mirthful. "Comes with being a Stone Cutter and facing Dark Wizards, among other things. But if you're asking why I'm offering it to you, it is because you looked like needed it more than I."

He'd even offered her the chance to use the springs first, something she'd leapt at, given that she hadn't had access to hot water for a very long time, and could feel just how grimy and smelly she must be, especially compared to her perfectly groomed competitor.

And now, as she soaked in the waters of the spring, she felt like she didn't want to leave, because for the first time in weeks, she truly felt warm, as if the cold had at last been banished.

' _I'd zought ze froid in my bones vas permanent, but it is gone…'_

She sighed in contentment, her eyes closing for a moment, before fluttering open as she heard approaching footsteps, descending from the top level of the cave, and stopping some distance away.

"Enjoying yourself?" the voice of George Weasley asked with some amusement, his form barely visible in the steam.

"I…oui..." Fleur answered, stumbling over her words. It seemed perfect here – well, almost perfect, as there were some spots she couldn't quite reach with her hands.

The small of her back for one.

"Would you mind some company? I hear its tradition to share a bath up in these parts."

"I…"

"Tell you what. I'll wash your back if you wash mine," the boy said, almost impishly, as he padded closer.

Ordinarily, Fleur would probably have refused, but being around another person after so long alone, someone despite being her competitor and being unaffected by her allure, was so very kind, on top of how comfortable she felt in the hot spring, made her feel otherwise.

"…Oui," she answered, her cheeks pink in the dimness.

And then, though there were sounds aplenty, there were no more words.


	52. One Step Forward

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 52.** _One_ _Step Forward_

In the darkness of a hidden cavern, Fleur Delacour sighed contentedly as she breathed in the warm, moist air of her surroundings, feeling more relaxed than she had in a very long time – if perhaps a bit sore and sticky in places she wasn't quite used to.

She supposed she must have had one of _those_ dreams last night, with the warmth and safety of her surroundings letting her thoughts drift away from the immediate needs of survival, towards…something to give her relief from the loneliness and utter isolation of the Task on which she was embarked. Her entire body flushed as she remembered the feel of lips on lips and skin on skin, of skilled fingers trailing molten heat as they traced her curves, of…

…of the incredible warmth that had filled her over and over again, the way the world had fallen away in a single moment of utter bliss, and the pleasurable exhaustion she'd fallen into as she'd drifted away.

Her dreams had certainly never been quite that…vivid or _intense_ before, but then, she hadn't really had the opportunity to…take care of herself…since journeying out into the frozen wastes, so perhaps her…needs had simply built up over time.

It had been a long time since she'd felt so content – so comfortable, and to be honest, the part-Veela wanted nothing more than to just stay here for a while, nuzzling the rather firm mattress she lay on top of, enjoying the way it rose and fell beneath her in a comfortable rhythm, feeling safe in the embrace of strong ar—

' _Arms?'_

Fleur's eyes shot wide open, her thoughts focusing with painful clarity as she noted where she was, her current state of undress, and of course, the fact that she lay in the arms of – and was nestled quite comfortably against – a very naked George Weasley.

The Hogwarts Tri-Wizard Champion.

' _Merde. It…It vas not a dream…?'_

Confusion shot through her as the memories of the night before came back to her in more than just the fleeting snatches one remembered after waking. Stumbling upon him in the cave, sharing a meal with him, bathing in the hot spring, and then…

She swallowed, looking down at her rival's sleeping face and form, marveling at how vulnerable he was, how utterly defenseless he would be if she chose to take advantage of the situation.

' _I…we…'_

Why?

She didn't understand. He seemed to be immune to her allure, so why had he been so…nice to her, when he was from a school that hated part-humans and foreigners? Why had he…why had he…and why had _she…_

' _It…it was just a moment of weakness.'_

Yes. That would make sense. A moment of weakness, on both their parts. After nearly a month without so much as seeing another human being, no doubt he'd been lonely, like she was, desiring someone to talk to, to enjoy the company of.

Enjoyment which had just…gotten a little out of hand, gone beyond what either of them had expected in the heat of the moment.

That was all.

No matter how much a traitorous little voice in the back of her head wanted her to stay and enjoy another day's respite from the travails of the Second Task in the company of her foe, reminding her of how…pleasant last night had been, and how pleasant the next day could be if she just waited for him to wake up and—.

' _Non. No. Non.'_

It _was_ tempting, so very tempting, to remain in his arms, to enjoy another stolen moment with the Champion of Hogwarts, telling herself that she'd head out just a little later, after just a little longer. But that, in and of itself, was the danger.

A stolen moment would no doubt turn into a few, a few minutes turning into hours, hours into days, until before she knew it, the deadline for the Second Task would have come and gone.

And the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave.

' _I did not come to Durmstrang to become attached to someone. I came to become ze Tri-Wizard Champion!'_

To prove to everyone – and to herself most of all – that she was worthy of the honors and titles that had been heaped upon her.

What happened last night, no matter how right it felt…

' _Zit was only a moment of weakness. Nothing more.'_

The result of encountering a friendly – and reasonably handsome – face after so long being alone in the wilderness.

It didn't mean anything.

Couldn't mean anything.

Not as long as they were rivals seeking the same prize.

Indulging her impulses beyond what she had already done in her foolishness, letting her focus waver any further from her chosen purpose, such would be a betrayal of everything she'd fought for, and worked so hard to achieve.

In other words, utterly unacceptable.

Or so the Champion of Beauxbatons told herself as she slowly extricated herself from George Weasley's embrace, biting her lips to keep from moaning at the sensation of his skin against hers, of his swollen…maleness against her lips. In the process of doing so, she kept glancing down at him, worrying that he would wake and pull her into his arms once again, seducing her with his words, his gaze, his touch, from which there would be no escape.

It was rare – very, very rare – that she ever found herself caught up in another's pace, felt the sort of raw need towards another that she knew her allure could inspire in those susceptible to it, or experienced a sense of rightness at another's presence.

Which was why she had to go, while she still had the willpower to resist.

Miraculously, her companion did not stir, as she disentangled herself from him and set about finding her…folded, neatly pressed clothes.

' _Quoi?'_

She didn't think she had…

But Fleur shook her head, not wanting to complicate things further, as she dressed herself quickly, pulling on layer after layer of outerwear, though her traitorous senses couldn't help but notice that they seemed freshly cleaned and more comfortable to wear than she remembered…

Had…had her competitor cleaned her clothing and improved the enchantments before joining her in the hot spring?

' _Non. Zat is…no, it cannot be.'_

There was no reason…he wouldn't have… _why_ would he do such a thing?

Why would he…?

' _Non. I vill not zink about it. Not now.'_

Shaking her head to clear of it of distractions, as such could be quite fatal out in the arctic wastes, she snatched up her wand, and successfully fighting the urge to take a last glance back at her…still sleeping rival, slipped out of the cave with as much stealth as she could manage.

* * *

With a silent sigh, George Weasley looked on as Fleur Delacour's form slipped away into the distancea languid half-smile on his lips as his golden gaze took in why it was that she'd left, when they could have had a few more pleasant hours together yet.

' _That was as I expected, really.'_

While he couldn't deny that a small part of him was a bit disappointed she hadn't chosen to stay after their very pleasant encounter the night before, a rather larger part had predicted that this was the likely outcome, and more, was impressed at his fellow Champion's determination and sense of resolve.

' _Not that I'm terribly surprised, given that it was her determination and resolve that drew me to her in the first place.'_

He'd seen this in the minds of the Hufflepuffs who had ambushed her months ago, seeing how the part-Veela had not held back as she faced a horde of invisible assailants, but had, in the face of mortal danger, leapt to using _**Confringo,**_ the most effective and dangerous counter she knew.

Some in her position might have hesitated in the face of such danger, or held back out of a misplaced sense of morality, but not Miss Delacour. She had simply responded to the attack with brutal efficiency, and if she hadn't managed to kill all of them before they incapacitated her, it hadn't been for lack of trying. Indeed, the viciousness of her counterattack had sent the Hufflepuffs reeling, shattering their sense of invulnerability and leaving them utterly defenseless against his abilities.

Though of course, he'd also seen that she knew how to respond appropriately in other situations, with her managing to appear calm and unaffected by the terrible rumors that had been spread about her prior to the First Task, no matter how irritated she truly was.

He supposed some of that was due to long practice as the Etoile of Beauxbatons, even if she had never had to deal with such a hostile situation, but some of that too, was reflective of who she was. Someone who put on the right face to deal with different situations, due to who and what she was, could usually influence things with something as simple as a smile.

'… _much as Kohaku could,'_ George thought ruefully as his fingers brushed against the ring of power that he wore, a partner to the hematite band he'd bought the Fujou girl with whom he'd spent so much time that summer. _'I wonder how she is…'_

Was she well over in Japan, no doubt facing trials like their excursion in the Sea of Trees?

But the youth shook his head, putting such idle thoughts out of his mind. Given the political climate, there was likely no way he would be able to visit Japan anytime soon, and it wasn't as if Matou knew of some secret way to circumvent the travel ban – at least not one he was willing to share.

' _Not that I would blame him. I wouldn't either, if I were in his shoes.'_

And since Matou had gotten him an _excellent_ replacement wand, he couldn't really complain about whatever his colleague might or might not know, even if he did envy, just a little bit, how much time the boy was able to spend with Delacour.

' _But it is time to move on. The Task must be completed, and I am pleased enough about the results of this particular test.'_

It had reaffirmed his impression of who Fleur Delacour was, certainly. It had been a quite pleasant evening, with the part-Veela's unexpected blushes and sighs. And perhaps…perhaps it had even planted the seeds for more to come.

In time.

* * *

Above Fuyuki Central Park, the scar in the cityscape from which a conflagration had erupted years ago, spreading to consume much of the city, a dark star floated, massive in scale – a proto- _tatarigami_ wrought from the memories and fears of those who had died there, from grief, their pain, their regret – their wishes that they would not die alone.

The grudges of a decade ago might well have simply lingered in the earth, slowly poisoning the minds and souls of all those who so much as ventured near the scene of the long-ago disaster, save for the actions of Fujou Kirie, whose desire to purify the corrupted land by forcing the hidden hurts of Fuyuki into a form that could be fought _resonated_ with a wish that others had made thousands of years ago to purge themselves of all the evils of the world.

A wish for a single source of evil that could be fought – could be hurt – could be slain, a wish that been carried across the millennia and had tainted the vessel of power that manifested in this land.

The vessel had but one desire – to grant a wish, but there had been no wish granted across all the cycles in which it had been summoned. The first time, it had not been complete. The same with the second. The third and the fourth, it had been shattered.

Yet fragments of the vessel remained, which, desperate to fulfill their purpose before what little power they bore evaporated into nothingness, _responded_ to the Fujou magus' desire and actions by uprooting the grudges and binding them together, letting her see – and face – the past as it had once been.

Granting her wish.

As Fujou Kirie had thrust her _gohei_ into the air in a bid to drive the darkness from the earth, the world had _changed,_ a great orb of ragged darkness coalescing in the air, with scorching winds erupting from it, even as the past overwrote the present in the entirety of the park lands, filling the desolate expanse with shadow and flame.

While the young woman was perhaps not as proficient as her teachers, she knew enough to be afraid, for her senses could feel – could perceive – the scale of what she faced.

' _Reality Marble.'_

A magecraft that verges on being True Magic: the projection of an illusionary world upon reality, sealed away from the World. Ordinarily, such a thing would be beyond the capability of a mere collection of grudges, requiring the expertise of a magus or demon to create, but in this case, the broken Grail had served as an intermediary, linking together all the memories, fears, and hurts of those who had died in the Fuyuki fire and amplifying them, recreating the inferno in which they had died – the land of despair in which all hope had been lost.

' _How is this…?'_

She'd expected something smaller, for the grudges to become a spirit not unlike those her kin had faced in Aokigahara, not to be trapped in an illusionary world where even continuing to exist was difficult, with an immense spiritual pressure threatening to crush her where she stood.

She could feel it. The fear. The grief. The rage. The despair. All eating at her, all seeking to overwrite the land on which she stood, so that she – like they – might be consumed by hungry flames – but she resisted.

Closing her eyes and drawing upon her spiritual powers, Fujou Kirie forged a connection to the underlying world that the magecraft was attempting to overwrite and enforced the continuation of reality in a small circle of it around herself and her attendant, forbidding the encroachment of the world of memory.

"Kohaku-san. Can you…do anything?" the raven-haired woman ground out, as the exertion needed to preserve the world around them took up almost all of her concentration. If she focused entirely on that one thing, she might be able to keep the reality marble at bay, but if she slipped.

Nodding, the redhead slashed down upon the boundary of the reality pressing against them with her katana, the _Kuji Kanesada,_ turning the mystery within the blade against the illusionary world bearing down on them. For a moment, it even seemed to work, with the silver edge of the soul-cutting blade ripping through the boundary of the field and driving it back – only for the false reality to wash over them once more, like water flowing returning into the cavity left behind by an explosion of air.

The only choice then, was to attack the core – the black sun whose dark light sustained this forbidden world of memories.

Grimly, Fujou Kohaku sheathed her sword and readied her evil-destroying bow, nocking a silver-tipped arrow to the bowstring and visualizing it hitting the target. She loosed, the arrow flying through the air towards the dark star, and striking it – but to no effect, for the mystery within a single arrow could not hurt the heart of darkness.

Perhaps the _Kuji Kanesada_ might have, but there was no way she could get close enough to strike it with her blade – not without leaving the "safe zone" that Kirie-sama had established. Could she perhaps use the blade as she charged, slicing away the false reality faster than it could reform, trusting the mystery of her bow to protect her from the world of lies?

Perhaps.

But then, perhaps not.

Not that she had time to contemplate such things, as with a sound not unlike that of flesh being torn open, a shadowy void shaped like a werewolf ripped its way out of the dark star, crashing upon the fiery earth with a feral roar.

In a flash, Kohaku had another arrow nocked and ready – loosing just as the specter _charged._

Against this shade, her arrows were far more effective, ripping through its skull and obliterating it from existence – but not before a second and a third emerged from the core.

Nock and loose. Nock and loose.

As quickly as she could strike them down, quicker still did more emerge faster and faster and faster, some rushing at her, and others at her mistress – the one whose powers were keeping them alive in this space.

 _Whirr! Whirr! Whirr!_

Her arrows tore through the air, each one striking – and destroying – one of the enemy creatures, but there was no end to the monsters – and as she was not Shiroe-sama, her quiver only held so many arrows.

If she ran out, and they reached Kirie-sama…

Then they would die.

* * *

 **Despair**.

 **Despair**.

 **Despair**.

 **DIE.**

The harder she fought against the pressure of the false world, against the fires lapping at the edges of the order she imposed, the more Fujou Kirie had content with the whispers – the visions – issuing from the false sun.

Whispers of darkness. Whispers of every lie. Every false hope. Every self-deception one had ever told.

 **Scorn.**

 **Scorn.**

 **Scorn.**

Abandonment.

Why save the world that abandoned you?

"I was not – I was saved."

Saved. Who is saved? Who was saved? Who was left to die? What violation for self-protection, violation for love, violation for respect SELFISH SELFISH SELFISH.

"I won't let you win…" Kirie growled.

 **Delusion.**

 **Lie.**

 **Futility.**

Was there doubt in her? It was multiplied a hundredfold – no, a thousandfold – by the power of the false world.

 **Grudge within, like grudge without.**

 **Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy.**

"You're wrong…" Kirie whispered. She knew she had to hold out. If she didn't, there would be no hope – they would be consumed by the ugliness all around them. And that unacceptable, for she'd asked Kohaku to join her in this – she would not be responsible for more of her family dying. For hurting Shiroe!

 **Selfishness. Overconfidence. Fraud fraud fraud!**

The false world pressed on her, showing her all the time people neglected one another, all the people left to die alone, people who were ignored – because everyone cared only about themselves. Because when it came down to it, humans were selfish, caring only about their own well-being, and not anyone else's.

Whispering that if it came down to it, she would sacrifice Kohaku to survive, wouldn't she?

" _ **No."**_ Kirie bit out, as her fingers brushed against the cloth-wrapped bundle she carried on her hip.

She would not. She would not give in, not and abandon the girl protecting her from vengeance given shape and despair given form. They would fight – and they would win.

' _I promised Shiroe that I would come back. That we would both come back.'_

She would find a way, somehow, to stop the monster she had brought forth.

Even if there was nothing she knew of that could destroy a false world, she would think of something – for the sake of those waiting for her, and the sake of the young woman fighting beside her.

…that's right.

There was something she could do.

Something she should have done from the beginning, if she were not afraid to lose who she was.

She was a Fujou, descended from an ancient line of _mikos_ , which had once made a living by channeling the power of wayward spirits and gods. If she could not defeat what was before her with the power available to her, she simply had to open herself up to the world and call forth what could.

The voice of the dark star continued to press upon her mind, but she ignored it as she began to move, feet tracing out the steps of an ancient ritual _kagura_ she had not practiced since she was a child. The false world assailed her, screamed at her, demanded that she simply **die,** but it was meaningless as she sank deep into herself, everything else falling away as she found herself before the door that tied her to the realm of spirits - and opened it.

 _ **Susanoo.**_

She spoke a name – the name of the Storm God who had, through slaying the Yamata-no-Orochi discovered the legendary Ama-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi, and as she did, power and information rushed into her, and the world _changed._

The flames were pushed back by winds tinged with a beautiful blue glow _,_ which shredded the shadows that encroached upon them, ripping them apart as if they had never been.

She spoke a name embodying a wish.

A wish for a power that would bring salvation when it seemed all hope was lost, for a power that would protect those who served it from the darkest evils.

A wish for a power great enough to destroy a false world and bring order to chaos.

A wish for a **sword** that would bring about **victory.**

The wind was unraveled, a roaring tempest rising from the ground and tearing apart the edges of the illusion, as more and more shadowy wolves hurled themselves against it – and were destroyed, one after another.

And the cloth-bound parcel she carried was unwrapped, with the blue and gold artifact within lifting into the air and glowing with a powerful inner light.

The doorway to the other side _opened, a_ nd through it _leaped_ a figure of legend, a slim warrior of blue and silver, a sword of golden light already in her hand as her green eyes fell upon the corrupted orb.

"— _ **CALIBUR!"**_

What came forth was literally a line of light, an ultimate slash that tore apart everything it passed through, ripping through the proto- _tatarigami_ with a single blow, before soaring up into the night sky, cutting through the clouds, and disappearing.

In the absence of the core anchoring the false world, the reality marble crumbled, with illusion falling away before the solidity of the world, leaving behind three figures.

A kimono-clad redhead, her bow in one hand, with the other reaching back towards an empty quiver, as she'd expended her last arrows against the endless horde of shadows.

The _miko_ Fujou Kirie, whose eyes still glowed with an unearthly azure light, and on whose back was inscribed a tattoo of sorts: three tomoe in interlocking Borromean rings, symbolizing Man, Earth, and Sky.

And a petite knight in blue and silver armor, seeming almost too delicate to be the bearer of a Last Phantasm, forged by the planet as the crystallization of the wishes of mankind stored and tempered within the planet.

She looked between her surroundings and the one who called her forth with deep surprise, an expression troubled as if she recognized something – as well she should, given where she stood and what she had seen.

In the aftermath of the battle, nothing is said for a time, with the three standing together in the lonely park, alone with their thoughts until at last the sun began to peek over the horizon, the light of dawn illuminating the girl in knightly form.

The night was over, and so, the silence was broken by a simple query, one that might mark the end of the beginning, or perhaps the beginning of the end.

"…I ask of you," the King of Knights said at last, turning to the priestess. "Are you my Master?"


	53. Spoken Word

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 53.** _Spoken Word_

For Pansy Parkinson, seeing the forbidding silhouette of the Durmstrang Institute loom in the distance came as a major relief, with knots of tension she hadn't known she was carrying ebbing away as the end of their journey came into view at last. She and her companions, the Potions Champions of Britain and France, as well as a trio of familiars, had been travelling for days across the arctic expanse of Svalbard, guided across the land of grey-blue by the dim half-light of the stars above.

Well, that and by the efforts of her human companions, who seemed to share a peculiar ability to note where the group was relative to the world around them. Neither had exactly been keen to explain just how they were capable of doing so, with Matou Shinji brushing off the inquiry with a remark about having good "stonesense", whatever that was, and Rachelle Lestrange offering even less of an explanation than that, though with the help of Kriemhilde, her newly-acquired _tanuki_ familiar, currently in the shape of a warm travelling cloak, she had been able to piece together enough to reassure her that there was some basis for her colleagues' confidence.

The _onmyouji_ , as Kriemhilde referred to Matou, derived his sensing abilities from his bond to his familiar, which despite appearances, was not a mere _kitsune,_ unlike the white fox belonging to Lovegood, (and howthe _tanuki_ managed to pack such derision into a single word, Pansy had no idea) _,_ but a _kodama,_ a spirit of nature closely attuned with the patterns of the earth. As a spirit, the _kodama_ was not limited to a single material form, and indeed, had no need to take physical form at all, meaning that it could go around invisibly, or assume other forms at need – leaving her wondering how much of Matou's performance in the Potions Challenges the year before had been due to his own merits, and how much had been due to the unsung efforts of his dutiful familiar.

Kriemhilde had further explained that Matou's ability to shift himself into a "battle form," in which he gained stone-like skin, resistance to most spells, sheer crushing speed and instinctive command over powerful elemental magic, was also the result of him merging his soul with that of his familiar for a time, allowing him to shed the weaknesses of human flesh and thought.

'… _frankly, that reminds me of some of the more dangerous rituals that some wizards partake of, irreversibly altering the pattern of their souls for one reason or another, with physical effects as well as magical.'_

Mostly, such rituals were used by dark wizards like Lord Voldemort, who sought to become more magically potent at the cost of their humanity, as they believed human norms and standards to be beneath them. However, her Mentor had noted that the effects were heavily dependent on how one designed the ritual, and what one was willing to sacrifice, mentioning that theoretically, one could sacrifice a portion of one's magical potential as a witch or wizard to make oneself more physically potent, or to gain certain abilities which some might consider…unnatural.

She had never heard of a variant involving spiritual fusion, but then, the _tanuki_ also mentioned that such a thing was rarely practiced outside the East, and even then, it was not a particularly common skill, given that it required a certain level of vulnerability and openness, neither of which Pansy associated with Matou Shinji.

Indeed, the mysterious manner affected by the Potions Champion of Hogwarts, coupled with the deeds he had done, led most to think of him as being a skilled, but secretive wizard who would show off from time to time, but didn't like explaining _how_ he did things, or really, talking much of the arts of his homeland in general, preferring to find other conversation topics. She, like many others, had assumed that such was simply because they were the qualitative edge that had saved his life many times over, but Pansy was beginning to wonder how much of that persona was true.

' _Is he really skilled but wary, or is he simply insecure, because he isn't as powerful as most of us think he is – at least, not alone?'_

It was an interesting question, but not one that she thought would get an answer to any time soon.

The _tanuki_ had also given her some insight into George Weasley, mentioning that he was bonded with a creature called a _satori_ , which granted its host the ability to manipulate memory and perception, with all the logical consequences thereof. Unfortunately, it had little idea of how the redhead could shift into spirit form, as that was not an ability usually attributed to _satori_ hosts.

Yet, strangely, Kriemhilde had been less willing to discuss either Pandora, Lovegood's _kitsune_ familiar, or the odd abilities of Rachelle Lestrange, though whether out of ignorance or sheer discomfort, Pansy didn't really know. Whatever the case, however, the young brunette felt it was safer not to push, given that she and her familiar didn't know each other too well, yet, and she wanted to build up a good working relationship with the _tanuki_.

' _I'm sure we'll have time for that back at the castle, once I catch up on recent events. I'm sure some interesting things have happened while I was away.'_

Unfortunately for young assassin-in-training, she would be proven quite right.

* * *

When Matou Shinji strode triumphantly through the doors of the Great Hall of Durmstrang, with the members of his expeditionary party trailing behind him, he hadn't been sure what kind of reception to expect from the people he had left behind. Annoyance that he'd simply gone off into the wilderness without telling anyone? Relief that he hadn't gotten himself killed, perhaps? Perhaps some measure of curiosity as to what he'd been up to?

That there would be questions about where he had disappeared to for long and what he had been doing was almost certain, given his choice of travelling companions and the fact that his timing overlapped with the Second Task, though given how easily he'd been able to spin events in his favor in the past if given half a chance, he didn't foresee much trouble arising from it. Not when he was a Potions Champion, as was Rachelle Lestrange, with the obvious explanation for their trip being that he had gone off with her to train for the upcoming competition, bringing along Pansy Parkinson – the _Daily Prophet_ liaison and apprentice to Britain's greatest adventurer – to ensure that nothing got out of hand.

(And with the familiars accompanying their party having either gone invisible, or currently wearing some inconspicuous form, it wasn't as if there was any hard _evidence_ to the contrary. He even had brewed a few potions while camped these last few days, so it wasn't _entirely_ a lie…).

What he hadn't expected were the death glares he received from what was almost the entirety of the Hogwarts delegation falling silent as he walked in, or for the conversation in the Great Hall to fall silent – and not in a good way.

Fear.

Anger.

Hatred.

Resignation.

Envy?

All of these and more he saw, writ large across a sea of once-familiar faces.

The reaction of the Beauxbatons delegation was quite different, with some of them looking between him and Rachelle Lestrange as if seeing the two of them together was somehow puzzling, and others looking away, as they knew better than to do anything that might offend their Potions Champion, after the grim events she had been involved in the previous year.

The others – the Durmstrang students – glanced over at him curiously, but soon returned to their meals, as they were aware that he – like Lestrange – had few obligations at the school other than the Potions Championship, and so, what he chose to do was his business, not theirs.

So long as he hadn't been interfering with the Tri-Wizard Tournament, anyway, but they didn't think anyone would be foolish enough to do so, as that would bring down the wrath of all three schools upon them.

Now, the Hogwarts delegation was not particularly large, but it was their reactions that hit Matou Shinji hardest, as he was not used to his peers looking upon him with such…vehemence and scorn, as if the world would be better off if he was no longer in it. He glanced back to see that Pansy, too, was shaken, almost wilting under the attention, while Rachelle Lestrange seemed utterly indifferent to the hostility, seeming to pay no heed to the crowds at all as the trio walked past them.

'… _maybe I should have found another way in. Or sent Zelkova to scout to make sure I wasn't arriving during a meal?'_

But what was done was done.

' _Right. If things are this bad, I probably should head back to Britain to see just what nonsense they've been saying about me. But first…Raven's Keep.'_

He nodded towards the door on the far side of the room, with his companions trailing him silently, save for Zelkova, who he had instructed to remain behind for a few moments to see what would be said in his absence.

The boy nearly stumbled at the door to the Keep as his familiar reported back, noting that most of the Hogwarts delegation present in the hall referred to his excursion as "Matou's Arctic Sexpedition", with increasingly salacious remarks and suggestions being thrown around as to what he'd been up to. It was commonly assumed that given his choice of companions – one of which was known to be close to him, and the other of which resembled a somewhat more mature version of his lover back in Britain – he had no doubt been indulging in carnival of lust and debauchery, away from prying eyes.

A smaller but more vocal fraction of the Hogwarts delegation, had disagreed, something which had lifted Shinji's spirits until he learned just _why_ they had done so. In their eyes, the Boy from the East would not have gone on an arctic expedition simply to slake his lusts, not when he had more than enough privacy to do what he wished with his companions in Raven's Keep. No, to them, it was obvious what he had been up to, given the timing of his excursion.

Treason.

It seemed obvious to them that the foreigner who wore the title of Britain's Potions Champion had chosen to betray the people who had placed such trust in him, and hard embarked on his expedition to assist Fleur Delacour with the Second Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Granted, there was no hard _proof_ , but why should that stop them? Someone like Matou wouldn't be foolish enough to leave physical evidence of his betrayal laying around. No, he'd simply go off on a mysterious errand and return – proudly – once it was complete, just as he had done by walking through the doors of the Great Hall, as if his disappearance was nothing out of the ordinary.

This second faction had some trouble explaining the presence of Pansy Parkinson in the party, as they didn't think that a loyal daughter of Britain would be party to some foreigner's schemes. Still, every person had some weakness, and Parkinson had been rumored to be fond of the Japanese boy, so most came to the conclusion that Matou must have seduced her, as he had done to Granger, in order to make use of her skills and compromise the journalistic integrity of the _Daily Prophet_.

' _What.'_

' _I am sorry, Master, but this is what your peers have been discussing in your absence,'_ the mental voice of his _kodama_ familiar echoed in his mind.

' _Is there_ anyone _from Hogwarts who doesn't think my reasons were either base or nefarious?!'_

'… _a very few, Master. Mostly members of the Ourea, but they are not speaking up, as it would not only be futile, but would draw attention to their association with you.'_

Matou Shinji's jaw clenched in irritation – no, in something close to rage – and it was with some effort that he fought down the urge to do something… _terrible_ to those who slighted him, as he knew that wouldn't help matters.

He glanced over at Rachelle Lestrange, an island of utter calm in the chaos, and with her as an example, took a deep breath, forced the heat of his anger to drain from him before he could act on it.

' _Is there anything else?'_ he asked, as he made his way into the Keep, trying to pay no heed to the murmurs as he walked past the few individuals in the common room and down into the VIP section, where at last, there was silence.

' _Simply the news that Viktor Krum has already returned to Durmstrang, Master, while the other Champions have not.'_

' _Thanks.'_

"Champion Matou," the melodious voice of Rachelle Lestrange murmured, with the boy turning to the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons, finding her silver eyes as arresting as ever.

"Yes?"

"Our obligations 'ave been discharged," the petite blonde noted simply. "Ze _tanuki_ is no longer free to cause trouble, and ve 'ave returned to Durmstrang."

"Yes, this is so," Shinji said with a slight bow, smiling at his fellow Champion – an expression that came surprisingly easy to him when he was around her. "Thank you. For…well, everything."

Rachelle Lestrange just nodded, looking at the boy expectantly.

"As to the other matter, I look forward to discussing it with you…soon," he continued. The boy paused for a moment, hesitating. "If that is acceptable, that is."

"Oui," the Champion of Beauxbatons agreed with a slight nod, and a languid, Gallic wave. "Until then, Champion Matou."

With that, the petite blonde took her leave, disappearing through the door that led to her private quarters in the Tower, leaving Matou Shinij alone in the common area of the Keep's basement with a rather subdued Pansy Parkinson.

"…it's bad, isn't it?" the brunette murmured, looking down at the ground as her fingers toyed nervously with her new scarf. "How everyone was looking at me. Us. It doesn't bode well."

Shinji sighed and shook his head.

"I'd say something reassuring, but well, you're right," he admitted ruefully, a chuckle escaping his lips with very little mirth. "They're out for blood."

"I was afraid of that," Pansy whispered, her voice very small. "I can only imagine what they must be saying."

"Oh, that much I can tell you," Shinji replied, as he looked away. "They think we either spent the last few weeks shagging each other silly, or that we were off helping Fleur." The boy sighed, his lips quirking into a grim half-smile. "Though I guess they're not _entirely_ wrong where the second bit is concerned."

"…right, since Hilde was causing a bit of trouble, wasn't she?" Pansy asked, stepping a little closer to the Potions Champion. "Matou. Shinji. Did you know…?"

"How they would react?" the _onmyouji_ supplied. "No. I didn't think…well, that's really it. I didn't think."

The self-condemnation in the boy's voice made Pansy look up, with the girl drawing a startled breath at the bitterness written across his features. Throughout the journey, he'd taken pains to seem quite composed, even when suffering from terrible pain. Now though, alone with her, in the privacy of Raven's Keep, he seemed so very…vulnerable.

The very image of a tragic hero, condemned by the people he sought to protect.

…a far cry from her own mercenary ways.

"Look," she offered after a few heartbeats. "Why don't we go back to Hogwarts and talk to Professor Lockhart? I'm sure that with his help…"

"It's too late for me," Shinji interrupted. "Even with the Professor's help, I'd be living on borrowed time." He sighed, shaking his head once again. "We both know that I was only allowed back in Britain due to my position as Potions Champion of Hogwarts. When the Championship is over, I'll have outlived my usefulness."

"Matou…"

"I'm a foreigner whose name is probably worse than mud at this point, Pansy," the boy continued, his tone melancholic. "Professor Lockhart shouldn't waste his time trying to rehabilitate my image. And he won't, I'm sure – he seems bloody pragmatic to me. Or pragmatically bloody."

Their eyes met then, brown looking into grey, as he smiled, a wan expression that vanished as quickly as it had come.

"Pansy, look…I…appreciate what you're trying to do, but it will only hurt you to be associated with me, in the long run," Shinji explained. "At least while things are the way they are." His arm rose, his hand drifting up before dropping to his side again. "You were a tremendous help. I couldn't have succeeded in this without you. So…go back to Britain, talk to Lockhart. See if you can find a way to keep yourself from being too tarred by the fallout."

But the brunette, instead of leaving, closed the distance between them, leaning forward to lean her forehead against his.

"Every time I think I have you figured out, Matou, you end up surprising me," she murmured, chuckling a little as she felt him stiffen at her touch. "Every single time."

She shivered as she felt his fingers brushing the line of her jaw, before pushing her away ever so gently.

"You'll find I'm full of surprises," the boy noted dryly, his eyes looking over her form before rising to meet hers once more. "For now though, let's head back to Britain. I think we both have some explaining to do."

"…yeah, and with your luck, there will be a squad of Aurors waiting to arrest you when you step through, won't there?"

"…let's hope it doesn't come to that."

* * *

Fortunately for the Boy from the East, there was no squad of Aurors waiting to arrest him when he returned to Hogwarts, stepping through the Vanishing Cabinets that linked the frozen isle of Svalbard to Britain. There were only a pair of the red-robed figures, and he was not _officially_ under arrest.

Yet.

"Gentlemen," Shinji greeted, far more calmly than he felt. "What seems to be the problem?"

"That remains to be seen, Champion," the taller of the two figures noted coolly. "Word of your return from your…expedition, preceded you."

"We have questions," the other added.

"Many questions," the first supplied. "However, it will not be us you have to answer to."

"Oh?"

"The British Youth Representative has _requested_ a meeting at your convenience, Champion, as he, too, has questions for you," the shorter of the two figures explained. "Given the circumstances, I think _now_ would be a convenient time…don't you?"

"…quite."

* * *

It surprised him that the two Aurors, after escorting him to Founders Tower, didn't follow him in, but he supposed that they were at least paying lip service to the privileges accorded to the Stone Cutters (of which he was still one, at the moment) – either that, or Harry had asked to meet with him alone.

' _But what is there to say, really?'_

Ever since Harry had gone back to Hogwarts and taken up the post of British Youth Representative, while Shinji stayed behind in _Mahoutokoro_ due to his rejection of British citizenship, there had been something of a rift between them. Not something born of malice or such, merely the natural outcome of two people having vastly different priorities.

Harry Potter was – and felt – responsible for the young people of the entire British nation – a nation which found itself beset from all sides by potential enemies, foreign and domestic. The Boy-Who-Lived was loyal to something greater to himself – to his people – and so did whatever was necessary to boost his country's morale and secure the homeland, ensuring that a tragedy on the scale of the Qudditch World Cup Incident would not strike again.

Matou Shinji, on the other hand, felt no such attachment to Wizarding Britain, no sense of responsibility for its people. He was far more concerned about personal debts and obligations, having sworn what amounted to an oath of loyalty to the Director of Atlas, while effectively being an adopted member of the Fujou family, and having Luna Lovegood as his companion.

What tied him to Britain, in the wake of everything, was a single, fragile thread: the position of Potions Champion, to which he had devoted much of his time, because it was in accord with Sokaris' will.

As such, the two friends, who had met on the Hogwarts Express their first year, no longer quite saw eye to eye, even if they didn't quite realize it – yet.

"Hullo, Harry," Shinji greeted as he emerged from the long spiral staircase to the main chamber of the Tower to find the Boy-Who-Lived standing at a window, looking out into the distance.

Harry Potter, one of the most important people in magical Britain, turned and smiled at the sight of his old friend.

"Shinji, it's been a while."

"It has," the Boy from the East acknowledged easily enough. "How are things?"

"As well as one might expect," Harry replied evenly. "Always more to do, and not nearly enough time in the day."

"I know the feeling," Shinji remarked.

"Yes…you've certainly been…busy, haven't you?" Harry inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Between your duties as Potions Champion, your bodyguard duties on behalf of Miss Delacour, and any…expeditions you go off on."

"That's one way of putting it, yes," the Matou boy agreed, before his expression hardened. "And to be sure you wouldn't miss me when I came back to Hogwarts, you made sure someone would be waiting?"

"Yes?" Harry said, nonplussed, tilting his head. "A couple of my Auror bodyguards. Why?"

"…did you think about how it would seem to have Aurors waiting for me when I stepped out of the Cabinet, to _ensure that I wouldn't miss a_ meeting? And what it probably looked like to everyone else? Especially given the rumors I heard going around?"

The Boy-Who-Lived blanched.

"…I…I didn't actually think about that," the British Youth Representative admitted, grimacing. "I—"

"That you didn't think about that was pretty obvious," Shinji cut him off, not wanting to hear his old friend's recriminations. "Just like you didn't think about how changing so much of the official story in _Cornerstones_ would make me look, did you?"

"I—"

"I'm sure you had the best of intentions," the Boy from the East continued. "I imagine you probably wanted to honor Sokaris, which I can respect. But did you really have to make me look like I was _destined to become a Dark Lord?_ I mean, it was pretty bleeding obvious, with everyone else standing in the light except the actor playing me."

"I didn't know!" Harry exclaimed. "Merlin's beard, Shinji, I didn't know. I helped write the script, but I wasn't the director. I wasn't involved in any of the blocking decisions, or with most of the rehearsals. By the time I was brought in to do the epilogue, it was already the dress rehearsals, and by then, it was too bloody late to change anything."

"Yeah," Shinji echoed bitterly. "Too bloody late to change anything. Sounds about right for what happened that year, eh, Harry?"

Harry slumped over, a pained expression crossing his face at his old friend's words.

"…yeah…" was all could manage to say, before trailing off uncertainly.

Too late.

That was, more or less, the story of his life.

He stopped Lord Voldemort, too late to save his parents.

He stopped Quirrell, too lateto save Sokaris.

He became the British Youth Representative, _too late_ to stop anything at all.

In the wake of the short confrontation, a tense silence lingered between the two Stone Cutters that neither was entirely sure how to break. For that matter, neither was sure if they _wanted_ to break the silence, given that with their long history, both could hurt the other deeply with nothing more than a simple word.

Still…

"…perhaps that was a little out of line," Shinji conceded, rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry, I'm just in a pretty foul mood right now, with everything…"

"No, you have a right to be upset," Harry replied weakly. "If it makes you feel better, think of it this way, the Wizengamot hasn't managed to strip you of your title yet, right?"

"…yet, Harry?" the Boy from the East echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That implies they want to."

"Well. Yes. They don't like the fact that you're a foreigner, or the unrest you stir up, but…they listen to me when I tell them that you're still the best person for the job," Harry said plainly. "Look, I'm on your side, Shinji, or at least I'm trying to be, so help me out." The Boy-Who-Lived sighed, brushing some dust off of his formal plum robes. "Tell me what's happening, and why you've been going out of your way to tweak Britain's nose this year, when for as long as I've known you, you've been pretty fastidious about keeping your image and reputation."

Shinji briefly considered lying to Harry, but dismissed the notion, as he knew it wouldn't do any good in the long run. Besides, after three and a half years, he rather thought they knew each other too well for blatant lies to work.

' _I'll just tell him the truth, though perhaps not the whole truth…'_

"Do you want to know the truth, Harry?" the Potions Champion inquired, to which his friend nodded his head. "The truth is that I don't feel like there's much of a future for me in Britain anymore. Before this year and…everything that's happened, I thought there might be. I felt like Hogwarts had become a second home, and I could see myself spending some of my life after graduation in Britain."

"Because of Lovegood?" Harry couldn't help but tease.

"Well, yes. In part," Shinji readily admitted, a faint smile playing across his lips at the thought of the petite blonde who meant so much to him. "But it wasn't just because of her, since Luna's fond of travelling, you know?"

Harry nodded.

"When I first came to Hogwarts, it was after I discovered that despite how hard I'd worked to learn my family's arts, memorizing the spells and all, my adopted sister had been chosen as heiress instead. I didn't really have anywhere else to go, if I'm going to be honest," the Japanese boy confided, shaking his head. "I didn't know what to expect when I came to Britain, if I would make friends, if I could become someone."

"Yeah, you mentioned that."

"That year, I made friends – found comrades – in you and the rest of the Stone Cutters, met Sokaris, whose memory I still seek to honor even to this day, became _someone,_ " Shinji continued. "And as I came back year after year, I began to get comfortable, thinking that Britain might not be a bad place to live, because where I am isn't as important as who I'm around and what things are like. I even bought a house, you know! Even if it was partially because Tohsaka needed a place to live during her exchange program."

"Ah," Harry interjected, knowing this might be a bit delicate. "She doesn't…"

"She doesn't live there anymore, no," Shinji replied, finding Harry's look of relief odd. "She's being taught by my old Master, Aozaki Touko, and one of her associates is providing housing for her."

"I see," Harry noted, thinking from this that Tohsaka had gone back to Japan, which was better for all involved, with Britain on a wartime footing.

"After the Quidditch Incident though, and all the restrictions being placed on foreigners, I don't feel like there's much of a future for me here," the Boy from the East told the British Youth Representative. "Not unless I become a British Citizen, and I'm not sure I'm willing to do that, since it would mean I'd lose my Japanese citizenship. And with the current state of things, I would probably never be able to go home."

"…I see."

"I might have considered becoming a citizen more seriously, but seeing the Hufflepuffs who attacked Delacour and Krum get labeled as heroes was pretty off-putting," Shinji noted. "I feel like the Britain I thought I knew, the Britain that cared about things like honor and human dignity, is dead – that its people threw that away for the illusion of safety. It was also a bit ignorant about the outside world, but before, at least it was curious – now it is paranoid, fearful, eager to hate anything – anyone, who is different. A point that the _Cornerstones_ play really drove home, frankly."

Harry winced.

"What I'm trying to say is this: I'm in Britain this year because of my position as Potions Champion, so I've been focusing on doing my duty as Champion, on cultivating relationships and alliances that might be useful for the Championship, and after, as opposed to worrying about how Britain thinks of me, since I'll probably be forced to leave at the end of the year anyway."

There were another few moments of awkward silence, before the Boy-Who-Lived spoke.

"Look, I'm sure we could work something out, right?" Harry offered. "Maybe if you invented something clever at the Potions Championship and offered it to Britain?"

"Maybe. But then I'd have to believe they were honorable enough not to abuse whatever I came up with," Shinji said diffidently. "In all likelihood, I won't be around next year, so why bother with something useless like my image? It isn't as if the _Prophet_ isn't going to go out of its way to smear my reputation anyway, no matter what I do. I'm a foreigner, and thus, an acceptable target."

The Boy-Who-Lived found himself immensely troubled by his old friend's words, mostly because they were the truth.

Matou Shinji, Harry realized, was indeed an acceptable target because the _Prophet,_ and others, knew that he would be leaving at the end of the year, and as a foreigner, had few avenues for redress of grievances in the Magical Britain of today. Not that he had thought of that before their talk.

"I see."

"Well, I'm glad someone finally does," Shinji remarked, which only served to make Harry feel all the guiltier. "Still, I appreciate you speaking up for me in the Wizengamot…" He paused, eying his old friend. "Assuming you _have_ been speaking up for me."

"I have."

"Then thank you," the Boy from the East said with a small bow. "I'm sorry if I've been making things more difficult, but…"

"Your actions make a bit more sense now," Harry replied, shaking his head. "It's a bit odd to think that this year, you're considered almost…expendable, while I'm apparently important enough to Britain to be given Auror bodyguards."

"Harry, you've always been important to Britain," Shinji noted wryly. "Something about being the Boy-Who-Lived and the savior of the nation?"

"…granted, though they've never felt I needed Auror backup before," Harry rejoined.

"Britain wasn't at war with some enemy yet," the _onmyouji_ reasoned, frowning. "Speaking of which, just between you and me, are we still going with 'Bulgaria did it' or do we actually know who was responsible for the attack?"

"We're still going with 'Bulgaria did it,'" Harry admitted, "though there are few other possibilities." The Boy-Who-Lived sighed. "That's more or less why the Wizengamot has asked me to step down as Second, since the Potions Championship is too much of a risk."

"But not for me, huh?"

"…no."

"That's either a great vote of confidence, or a show of how expendable I am."

"Shinji," Harry said reproachfully. "You _did_ win the position fairly, so it's not as if they gave it to you expecting you to die. And they have talked about stripping you of your position before, so it's not as if your position is guaranteed."

"Not that there's anything I can do about it at this point."

"I wouldn't say that's strictly true," Harry countered, as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a slip of paper embossed with gold letters. "Here, take this."

"What is it?" Shinji asked, as he took the slip.

"My 'ticket' to the Potions Championship, as it were," the Boy-Who-Lived explained with a shrug. "Since I'm no longer able to go, I figure you could make good use of it."

"Are you sure?" Shinji asked, not wanting to sound too eager. "Couldn't you…?"

"I was thinking about giving it to someone like Professor Slughorn, who has always wanted to see the isle and competition with his own eyes, it's true," Harry acknowledged. "But feel free to give it to whoever you feel might be of most help to you."

The Boy-Who-Lived reasoned that if Shinji gave the ticket to Slughorn himself, that would be an excellent way for his old friend to gain another – fairly vocal – ally. It wasn't as if there were many other people Shinji could pass the ticket to, with the travel and mailing restrictions that had been placed upon him.

' _Well, except Pansy, but I'd think he wouldn't choose her, given the fallout from his…excursion.'_

"Thanks, Harry. I appreciate this."

"Of course. Just consider it your Christmas gift, and we'll call it even."

"…fair enough."

* * *

"So, your expedition was successful in your view, Miss Parkinson?" Gilderoy Lockhart inquired of his young apprentice, watching as her _tanuki_ transformed into a variety of people, including Harry Potter, Matou Shinji, Pansy Parkinson, and Fleur Delacour.

"It was, mentor," Pansy noted as she sipped a cup of hot chocolate with relish. It had been weeks since she'd had access to anything sweet, and dried rations, while certainly nutritious, weren't exactly culinary delicacies. "I acquired a familiar with fairly interesting powers, learned much about Matou's abilities, and seem to have further risen in his esteem."

He'd showed her a vulnerable side of himself, after all – and if there was one thing Pansy knew, it was that Matou hated seeming weak, or vulnerable, to anyone.

"And you are aware of what the consequences of your choice are likely to be?" the Assassin asked, raising an eyebrow as he witnessed the _tanuki_ turn herself in a staff.

Pansy shook her head.

"I have an idea, mentor, but please enlighten me."

"Very well," Lockhart intoned, his lips set in a grim expression. "My contacts have informed me that your assignment to cover the Tri-Wizard Tournament, as well as your position with the _Daily Prophet,_ are now in jeopardy, due to several suspected violations of the journalist code of ethics. Specifically, the fact that you neglected your duty to provide coverage of the Tournament to go off on what some have called a tawdry romp with the Potions Champion, who you are known to be fond of."

"…I was afraid it was something like that," Pansy whispered, biting her lip. "I suppose I should have expected people might think that, huh."

"Yes, you should have," Lockhart noted. "Fortunately, for the moment, you are not being stripped of your position quite _yet_. The _Daily Prophet_ has instead arranged for you to serve as an assistant to a senior reporter, who coordinate coverage of the Tournament. Your continued employment at the _Prophet_ will be at her pleasure, I'm afraid."

"…which reporter?" the assassin-in-training wondered, hoping it wouldn't be someone too difficult to deal with.

"Why, the talented Miss Skeeter, of course," Lockhart replied. "She seemed most excited about the opportunity, especially with the Yule Ball coming up."

"Skeeter, huh?" Pansy echoed, nodding. "She's one of the better ones."

"A frightening thought, isn't it?"

"Your words, Professor, not mine," the young woman snarked, though the smile on her face faded as quickly as it had blossomed.

"That being said, Miss Parkinson," Lockhart continued gravely, "Your request to visit the Isle of Thule and cover the Potions Championship has, of course, been denied, as the Ministry has deemed you a possible security risk."

"…thank you for telling me, mentor," Pansy said quietly. "I…appreciate knowing what I will soon be facing."

"For what it's worth, Miss Parkinson, I believe you made the right choice," the Assassin offered, as he looked at a map of Britain, on which were noted several areas of note, such as the various schools, villages, hamlets, and areas where magical creatures were known to reside. "It is rare in life that there is a choice without some drawbacks. That _is_ what makes them meaningful choices, after all. And I think, if properly directed, Hilde's skills and her penchant for…causing mischief could prove quite useful. Quite useful indeed."


	54. Soft Power

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 54.** _Soft Power_

As he stood at the window of the penthouse suite in his London manor, looking out at the mist and fog lingering in the air, Matou Shinji couldn't help but sigh. He'd been hoping for a bit of sunlight on the morning of Christmas Eve, a bit of warmth to add color to the land, in a pleasant change from the polar night of Svalbard, where, there was no sunlight, no day – just darkness, or at best, an eerie twilight that hung over everything, turning white into grey and black and blue.

' _Christmas Eve already…it's hard to believe….'_

It didn't seem possible that the end of the year was already fast approaching, but the boy knew that his sense of time was…still very much recovering from his extended stay above the arctic circle. Without the rising and setting of the sun providing a helpful division of day and night to mark the passage of time, and the artificial schedules of others to measure himself against, the moments had bled into one another, and since his return to Britain, he had been so busy that everything seemed a blur.

Having burned through so many _ofuda_ on his expedition, he'd had to devote much of his time to rebuilding his stockpile, as even the best _onmyouji_ was decidedly less dangerous without the tools of his or her trade.

Explosive _ofuda,_ binding _ofuda,_ sealing _ofuda,_ elemental _ofuda_ and more.

He'd worked tirelessly, filling them with prana and binding them with intent – with Zelkova, his _kodama_ familiar, helping as best he could.

' _By which I mean that he made a number of_ ofuda _as well, so now I have as many of mine as his.'_

He supposed that it shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that his familiar could create – and use – _ofuda._ True, he'd seen Kaiduka, the _kitsune_ familiar of the Maiden of the Tree, do just that, but while he had acknowledged that such would have implications for what Luna might learn from Pandora in the future, he hadn't even considered that a _kodama –_ a spirit of the forest – might use ofuda at all.

' _We don't tend to use them, but that does not mean we are not capable of doing so,'_ Zelkova's voice commented in his mind. _'Our kind does possess an affinity for things like us. We can hear the voices of the trees, feel their latent impressions, and more.'_

' _And paper is made of wood, which is ultimately derived from a tree,'_ Shinji mused, nodding. _'But, doesn't it feel strange to use things made of paper? Given that to make paper, we have to cut down trees?'_

After all, Matou Shinji knew he would feel a little strange if he was using trinkets of human bone or grimoires bound with human skin. Did _youkai_ not feel that way about things made from things of their ilk, really?

' _It is as I said before, Master. When beings like myself cease to exist, we have no claim on anything – even that which we once were, thus I cannot begrudge humans recycling a fallen tree into something of more use to them. That is the cycle of nature, after all.'_

"…so you don't fear what comes after death, but you still fear fire, which can kill you?" Shinji wondered aloud. "Why is that?"

' _Tell me, Master, do you enjoy pain?"_ The _kodama's_ voice was somewhat arch, for all that it was gentle enough. _'Would you like being burned to death?'_

' _Well, no, but…'_

' _Neither would I.'_

'… _point very much taken,'_ Shinji conceded with a silent sigh. He rather thought _'I do take it that your_ ofuda _do not work entirely like mine?'_

' _Correct, considering our affinities and natures. Unlike you, I have no need to use the prana stored in_ ofuda _to give me a sense for the earth around me, or to bend it to my will. My ofuda would simply bind enemies at a distance, to drain them of prana, to curse them – or as a catalyst for flow-walking, however.'_

' _Supplementing your core abilities, not substituting for them.'_

' _That is correct. Of the_ youkai, _only_ kitsune _who have become skilled at the magical arts are likely to use them extensively, but then they are the_ youkai _who are most used to placing a portion of their power…_ elsewhere. _'_

' _You mean the_ hoshi no tama _?'_ Shinji inquired, by which he meant the white jewels glowing with foxfire that _kitsune_ were often depicted with in artwork.

' _Yes, Master. They are capable of separating their spiritual cores from their bodies for a time, meaning that even should their physical vessel suffer a moral blow, they can recover.'_

'… _isn't that somewhat like how you go around in astral form, separate from your physical vessel?_ '

' _I suppose, although they can only separate their spiritual core from their vessel for a limited amount of time, whereas I can continue to exist indefinitely in astral form, so long as the tree that sustains my existence continues to exist. Remember, Master, I am a spirit by nature, whereas_ kitsune _are beings of flesh and blood.'_

Shinji nodded slowly. In the past few days, Zelkova had taught him much about other youkai – things he hadn't really thought about, or understood before – things he'd never really thought to ask. It humbled him, really, to be aware of just how little he knew, of how much there was yet to know. Yet at the same time, discovering all these new things was…exciting.

…far more exciting than the sessions of makeup work with Professor Slughorn he'd had to endure these last few days, to their mutual displeasure.

After all, to Horace Slughorn, Matou Shinji had simply skipped out on the advanced potions tutorials the potioneer had kindly arranged to offer, wasting time that the Potions Master could have spent productively doing almost anything else. And now that he was back, the Potions Champion offered no explanations for what he had been doing, no apology for the inconvenience, or token of appreciation for the effort Slughorn had wasted on the youth.

Shinji, for the record, hadn't known how long he'd be out, and hadn't really thought that Slughorn would believe any explanation he offered, given the rumors floating about. Further, while he could have taken Harry's suggestion and given Slughorn the ticket to the Potions Championship, the Boy from the East didn't feel it worthwhile to salve the hurt feelings of a man who he doubted he'd be interacting with in the future anyway.

He'd sent it instead to the Director of Atlas, with a note that she might find it useful to have an agent onsite who wasn't him.

Knowing he didn't have much time to waste, however, the _onmyouji_ had sent Zelkova to run some errands for him while he was otherwise indisposed, as there were other tasks that were also quite important to take care of.

For example, making sure that Christmas Eve plans had been made, as he didn't intend to spend it alone, or ensuring that the formal outfits that Fashion House LeShin was creating for the Yule Ball, as well as the dresses he was having made for some of his friends and acquaintances, had been finished in time to be shipped out to France – whereupon Rachelle Lestrange would take possession of them and bring them to Durmstrang, where they would serve as an official gift of the Beauxbatons Tri-Wizard Delegation to Champions in attendance at the Ball.

Or something like that, anyway.

Contrary to what one might assume from the name, Fashion House LeShin was not a French couturier, but a Japanese venture, born out of a partnership between Matou Shinji and Surein Toroi of _Mahoutokoro_. LeShin specialized in using exotic materials like spider silk, possum fur, and cashmere wool to create bespoke garments that blended effortless elegance and casual sophistication, and had apparently launched to rave reviews in the City Beneath the Earth (as Shinji had learned after coming back from his expedition).

Shinji, however, had always dreamed of expanding his reach beyond a single city, no matter how grand, and so, he had worked out a deal with Rachelle Lestrange, where she would place a complimentary order on behalf of the Beauxbatons delegation (since he couldn't very well bring them to Britain, and then to Durmstrang himself, since he was not supposed to be able to travel). He wasn't entirely certain how Lestrange had gotten Madame Maxine to approve of the cover story, but he didn't really care. All he wanted was to give Fashion House LeShin's Moonlight collection a stunning debut at an internationally attended event, as he felt that a good first impression in the public eye was just what was needed to kickstart foreign sales.

…and it had better, he now owed Lestrange, who was helping him promote his business, even more of a debt, beyond that accrued during the _tanuki_ pacification excursion.

But what could he give the Beauxbatons Potions Champion that she would accept in place of the rather sizable favor he owed her for her instrumental role in capturing the _tanuki?_

 _That_ had been the question plaguing him these last few days.

In the aftermath of the expedition, the boy had found himself having nightmares of what might transpire if he allowed her to simply call in the favor at a time of her choosing – with scenarios of being forced to give up the _Book of Potions_ (the sentient tome that was his one advantage in the Potions Championship) or having to buy Lestrange time against some implacable, illimitable threat flashing through his mind.

The thing was, he had little idea that would interest her, as she didn't seem the sort to be dazzled by riches or magical artifacts (unlike Tohsaka), and it wasn't as if he had a spare familiar he could offer her (not that he thought she was looking for one to begin with).

He supposed that an introduction to the Director of Atlas might satisfy the favor, given Lestrange's interest in Alchemy and her lineage's past involvement with the Eltnam, but he thought that probably wasn't something he should do without consulting with Sokaris first.

' _I've written Sokaris about the French Champion already, given their shared…history, but she hasn't given me any direction, so I should probably not presume on her name. The last time I did that, she scolded me. Mildly, but still.'_

If he had not already given the notes of Nicholas Flamel to Sokaris last Christmas, he supposed those might be a suitable substitute for the favor, but…

'… _that's right. There were those_ other _books the goblins bought for me at the auction.'_

Among them were the collected notes of Paracelsus, a number of tomes on the forbidden art of necromancy, and a strange illustrated codex written in a strange, flowing script that he couldn't make heads or tails of.

' _I was going to give offer_ Paracelsus' _notes to the Director for Christmas, and I don't think Lestrange would appreciate a tome she wouldn't be able to derive any use from.'_

The necromancy tomes though – those held a good deal of promise, given what Lestrange had mentioned about her soul-devouring blade, and the dark magics used to create it. He had little enough use for them himself, having little knowledge of blood magic, or other such things, but he imagined she'd find them quite nice.

…the trouble was, if he tried to bring them to Durmstrang so he could show them to her, they would likely be confiscated by the Aurors who guarded the Vanishing Cabinet link between the two schools.

' _I suppose I could have shipped them along with the dresses, but that doesn't sound like a good idea,'_ he mused, shaking his head. _'Maybe I'll just bring them to the Potions Championship, and offer them to her there?'_ He thought it over for a few moments and nodded. That was probably the idea with the least potential for catastrophe, though he was too jaded to think there was no potential for such whatsoever.

Everything else risked people connecting the books to him and labelling him a practitioner of the Dark Arts, especially after the _Cornerstones_ play had painted him as a likely villain, someone whose path would be forever cast in shadow due to his "obsession" with the late Sialim Sokaris.

' _Soon, it will be Christmas, and unlike last year, there will be no gala at the Clock Tower – not that I could go if there was, since dead men do not dance, and "Matou Shinji", son of the fallen Makiri_ , _is dead…'_

Matou Shinji, Potions Champion of Hogwarts, however, would indeed be dancing on Christmas Day, given that the Tri-Wizard Champions and their partners traditionally opened the Yule Ball with a waltz, wand given the fact that there were three Potions Champions in attendance, it had been deemed an elegant solution to pair them off, at least for the first dance.

Rachelle Lestrange and Viktor Krum.

Rachelle Sondrol and George Weasley.

Matou Shinji and Fleur Delacour.

' _I suppose I'll be the center of attention, as I was at the gala – and at least this year, there are no Magicians around to terrify me.'_

Just envious students from all three schools, many of whom seemed to think he was sleeping with both of the Beauxbatons Champions – never mind that if made an unwanted move, he was sure that Lestrange would gut him like a fish.

Or well, something less bloody, but no less deadly.

' _And I thought I was the one training under a modern-day Assassin…'_

Speaking of which, he'd have to see Lockhart sometime during the winter vacation between Christmas and the New Year, to see if the man had any advice for him, or could propose a training regimen for him to follow in the last weeks before the Championship.

Whatever else, he wanted to come back alive, after all!

Today though, was supposed to be a day away from all of that, a day to be spent with close friends and family.

' _Not that I have that many people to spend it with, not if I want to be in London…'_

After all, most of his peers were at Durmstrang, and they would not be going back to Britain for the holidays, given security concerns on both ends, though he knew that the upcoming break from classes was considered a good time to hold Capture the Flag events, or other such.

Harry and Daphne, of course, due to being British Youth Representative and the daughter of the Head of the Department of War, respectively, _would_ be back, but they had other obligations, as they had been invited to attend a state dinner with Minister Malfoy and his cabinet.

Even they hadn't, Shinji wasn't sure he _wanted_ to spend the eve with his old friend, given that at this point, the fortunes of one Harry Potter were bound up inextricably with that of Wizarding Britain, and Shinji still felt…hurt and betrayed by how Harry had questioned him so. That and he didn't want to face the Boy-Who-Lived wondering why he'd chosen to ignore his advice about what to do with the spare 'ticket' Harry had given him.

As for his peers at Hogwarts, while there were some winter festivities for the army and for the students to keep up morale, including an authorized (and supervised) liberty excursion to Hogsmeade, none of them would be allowed to go home until the end of the year. Luna, his usual companion, had sadly been given a leading role in some of the festivities, due to her status as a Stone Cutter, so she was out as well.

The Fujou family had other obligations – though they had invited him to visit for a special event at New Year, with Shiroe teasingly adding that he should bring his _shiroi koibito_ – for which Shinji had flat out told his old friend to expect no gift that year.

…he hadn't expected Shiroe to bow and tell him that Shinji had already given the family more than they could ever repay, so no gift was necessary – not for someone who might as well be his brother.

His former Master, of course, was unavailable, and Tomas was apparently spending the day with Tsuchimikado Hokuto, something which suggested to the Boy from the East that the automaton and the grand-daughter of the head of the Japanese Council of Magic weren't just...sparring partners, as it were.

Which really just left Tohsaka and Mashu as possible choices for his companions.

' _This year…it wasn't at all what I had expected when it started, as I'm used to driving events, not finding myself at their mercy. Still…'_

Things hasn't been entirely bad, and Mashu Kyrielite, his observer from Atlas, had always been an island of calm in the sea of chaos, with quiet conversations with her helping him keep up his spirit and maintaining his sanity.

' _She mentioned she'd be unavailable for about a month or so after Christmas, so I might as well invite her to spend the day together – it's only right that I do something nice for her after everything she's done for me.'_

Though if he was going to spend it with Mashu, he supposed he should invite Tohsaka along, since he didn't want her to feel left out, since no one should have to spend the Eve along unless they wanted to. And it wasn't as if Rin would be terribly busy at the Department of Archaeology over the holidays, save for any demands on her by her Master – and Touko herself was away.

It would be a quiet day, he thought – one spent at his manor (and otherwise in London), a day he well needed, given how grueling the last few months had been, with all the mandatory training for the Potions Championship running him ragged, the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament dragging him in unwittingly, and the hunt for the rogue Tanuki.

Though…

"Hey, Zelkova," the Boy from the East said aloud.

' _Yes?'_

"What do you want to do today?" Shinji asked of his familiar, with the _kodama_ seeming confused. "For Christmas Eve, I mean."

'… _I do not know, Master. Trees don't really celebrate holidays.'_

"Not even Greenery Day?"

Greenery Day being the Japanese equivalent of Arbor Day, a day to commune with nature and to be thankful for blessings.

'… _no. Not that you celebrate it either, Master.'_

' _Well, I can't at Hogwarts. They don't celebrate Golden Week here, sadly,'_ the boy groused silently. "Look, I've asked a lot of you this year. I know that. I just wanted to know if there was something you wanted."

There was a long moment of silence, as if the _kodama_ was considering something for the first time.

' _Something I wanted?'_

"Yes."

'… _I suppose I would like to speak with Miss Kyrielite, if you do not mind, Master.'_

"Oh? Why is that?" Shinji inquired, willing Zelkova to materialize into his usual form of a silver-haired boy with golden eyes, white Japanese clothing and small horns like those of a deer.

"Because she is like me, in a way," the _kodama_ said quietly. "Accepting of what is to come, always learning more about the world, and more of a protector than a warrior."

"A protector…?"

"She is not simply an observer, Master – of that much I am certain," Zelkova concluded. "Not with the power I sense in her…"

"…and so you want to meet her," Shinji echoed slowly. He thought it over for a moment, then nodded, as he recalled that Zelkova hadn't really ever asked for anything before – and that his familiar had been formed fromthe curiosity of the Great Tree of Shiretoko. He smiled, slightly. "Yes, that would be more than fine, Zelkova. Though…"

"Yes, Master?"

"If you could forego the horns when we go out in public, that would be preferable."

"Is there a form you would prefer me to take? Yours perhaps?"

Shinji grimaced at the suggestion.

"…no, I think that could be a bit awkward. Your default form will work, unless you have another preference. Just no horns for our outing."

"Of course, Master," Zelkova said agreeably, moving to stand beside Matou Shinji as the two looked out the window. "It's a lovely day, with the mist and fog, is it not?"

"…you really don't think like a human being, do you?"

"I believe, Master, that I was upfront about that from the day we met."

"…point."


	55. Three Little Words

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 55.** _Three Little Words_

For all his usual eloquence, Matou Shinji didn't know how to break the awkward silence that lingered in the air as he and Tohsaka picked their way through the rockery of Kew Gardens, an expansive area featuring alpine plants from Europe, Mediterranean and Africa, Australia and New Zealand, Asia, North America, and South America. Not that they could see very much of it, given the way the London fog obscured their sight, with only the silhouette of occasional slab of rock or leafy shrub peeking through every once in a while, as they strode along the path.

In the world of grey, the boy felt almost like he was floating, anchored to the ground only by the warmth of Tohsaka's hand in his, as his lovely companion having insisted that they hold hands so as not to inadvertently get separated. It was quite a practical suggestion, given how Zelkova and Mashu had already wandered off, presumably towards the Arboretum, with Shinji only knowing where his familiar was due to the link he shared with the _kodama_ , and so Shinji had carefully ignored how Tohsaka had been blushing furiously at the time.

He really hoped she wouldn't get the wrong idea. It wasn't like he liked her or anything.

Well, not in the way she hoped, at least.

Still, he was quite aware of her, for how could he not be when the fog was so thick it muffled sound as well as sight, making everything else seem insubstantial, ethereal – making her seem far more _present_ by comparison.

' _Her hands are…rougher than before…'_ he idly noted, as his fingers twined with hers, his thumb idly caressing the back of her hand. _'Has Master been rough on her, I wonder? Rougher than she usually would be, I mean,'_ he amended, reflecting that even at the best of times, Touko was not easy to please.

"You were right," Tohsaka said abruptly as she jerked to a halt – the first words she'd spoken since they'd arrived at their destination.

"Hm?" Shinji oh-so-eloquently responded, raising an eyebrow as he turned to his companion to see that she was looking down, and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"You were right," the raven-haired girl whispered with a heavy sigh. "About what it would take to win Aozaki Touko's respect."

"Hm?"

"Damnit, Matou, I'm not repeating myself again, even for you!" Tohsaka snapped, whirling about to let the boy have a piece of her mind, only to swallow what she was about to say as she found her green eyes looking deep into warm pools of grey.

"Ah, there we go," he murmured with a smile, seemingly pleased by her outburst. Without even really thinking about it, he brought up his free hand to errantly trace the line of her jaw. "You look far prettier when you're full of life and fire, as opposed to sullen and quiet, you know?"

"I…" she tried to protest, but trailed off, shuddering as his fingers brushed her skin, a silent moan escaping her lips before she managed to stifle it, much to her embarrassment. "Thank you," she squeaked out at last, barely managing to tear her gaze from his, as her face did a fair imitation of a vine-ripened tomato.

"Of course, Tohsaka," Shinji replied, bringing the girl's hand to his lips, where he graced her knuckles with a kiss. Somehow, though it didn't seem possible, Toshaka Rin's flush deepened, her knees going weak at the touch of his lips.

' _Why?'_ she wondered, fighting the urge to fall forward and be embraced by Matou's arms. _'Why am I so strongly affected…? It's…it's not like he has Mystic Eyes of Binding or something…right?'_

No. For one, he wouldn't use such things on her – she trusted him that much. And even if he did, as a magus, she would have felt the effects of the spell if he did, which meant it was just her body reacting to his...

' _It wasn't this strong last time.'_

But that had been before he mentioned that he did not hold her in his debt for all that he had done, whispering into her ear that as friends, comrades, and more, they were beyond such things as debts and costs and favors.

The only thing he had asked, when last they met, was for her to look out for him as he looked out for her, now and in the years to come.

Words of alliance between individuals and houses, which in times past, had traditionally been sealed with by marriage.

' _He doesn't ask it of me. But the fact that he doesn't demand it, just makes me want to…'_

…want to give him everything.

The girl shook her head, swallowing and biting her lip to make sure she wouldn't blurt out something…foolish and irrevocable as she thought back to a moment of triumph not long ago, when she had finally defeated – no, utterly _destroyed_ \- the automaton of Aozaki Touko, and hopefully, impressed the puppetmaster just a bit.

Or at least, had won a bit of her respect.

Maybe.

* * *

Not for the first time, Tohsaka Rin had found herself on the ground, every bit of her body screaming in agony from how she had been thrown against the wall with skull-jarring force in the last moments of her combat evaluation. Yet this time, as the smoke cleared, and her head stopped ringing, a wan smile had crept over her face as she saw how the four-armed contraption modeled after the wielder of the Fifth Magic had been reduced to a pair of charred feet.

"…tell me, do you know the meaning of the word 'moderation'?" the voice of Aozaki Touko had inquired, the familiarity in it almost mocking as the puppetmaster walked into view, taking a long drag of a cheap Taiwanese cigarette.

Rin, for her part, had barely been able to muster up the energy to glare at the woman who was supposed to be her Master, but muster it she had.

"Still, a deal's a deal. Since you _did_ defeat my automaton, I have to acknowledge you as my apprentice," the red-haired woman had noted coolly, the corners of her lips drawing up into a predatory smile. "Of course, that means you're going to have to pay for what you broke."

Aozaki Touko had gone on to name a truly staggering price, her words proving to be a more grievous blow than any the automaton had ever struck.

"Wha—?" Rin had managed to gasp in outrage, her features twisting in disbelief. "You—you never said…"

"I didn't think I needed to," the older magus had intoned, surveying the destruction caused by the detonation of one of Tohsaka's jewels. "Hm, so this is all a year's worth of magical energy can do in your hands? Raw destruction with no finesse? How…disappointing for a supposed _prodigy._ "

To Tohsaka, each of the puppeteer's words, so laced with scorn and derision, had cut to the quick. Even in victory…even in victory, she had not managed to impress the elder magus. The magus that Matou had impressed so easily, when he had been her apprentice. The magus whose tutelage Matou had given up for _her_ sake.

"I…" Rin had begun, but had trailed off, not knowing what to say.

A heavy silence had hung between them for some time. Minutes, maybe, though Tohsaka didn't really have any sense for just how many were passing.

"At least you finally decided to take the challenge seriously, even if your technique is lacking," Touko had said after a while, as a smirk stole over her lips. "Matou talked to you, then."

Rin had blinked at the utter certainty in the puppeteer's voice. How…how had she…?

"For a so-called genius, you're a bit slow," the elder magus had noted coolly, shaking her head as she took another long drag of her cigarette. "Always doing the same thing over and over, hoping for a different outcome, unable to even consider something new. Except for this time, when you did. Obviously, something changed."

"I—"

"You and Matou talked." Touko had supplied, her teeth flashing white against the darkness of the training room. "And so, you destroyed a gem worth what? Half a million yen?"

Rin had cringed, because the puppeteer was quite correct.

Half a million yen, on top of whatever she now owed for utterly wrecking the automaton.

"Still, it was a good tradeoff, I suppose. The puppet you destroyed was worth about ten times that," the Aozaki magus had noted, as a _urk_ issued from Rin's lips unwittingly. "Of course, now that you've proven that you can beat one of my automatons, the next step is to beat one without destroying it."

"…without destroying it?" Rin had echoed numbly. How…how was she supposed to do that?! Martial arts weren't enough to stop one of Aozaki-san's automatons, even with the aid of Reinforcement. Her Gandr shots bounced right off of them. Only her jewels…

"Yes," Touko had confirmed. "I will not have an apprentice who cannot restrain her more…destructive impulses." She'd glanced over Rin, taking in the other's expression. "Or is it that you just don't know any useful techniques besides those you demonstrated?"

"…"

Tohsaka Rin hadn't been able to say anything, but the look on her face made it obvious that the puppeteer was right.

"...and this is the heiress of a family, who inherited her family's knowledge through a Crest," Touko had observed with some exasperation. "That's…look, do you even have a Mystic Code? Maybe an Azoth or something?"

The Azoth sword (or dagger) was one of the most commonly used Mystic Codes in the Association, after all, with parents often presenting it as a gift to their children for a coming of age ceremony. And given that the Tohsaka heiress possessed a Crest, it would be odd if she did _not_ have an Azoth.

"I…I left it behind in Fuyuki," Rin had been forced to admit, much to the puppeteer's displeasure. "I didn't think I'd need it."

"You didn't think you'd need it?" the puppeteer had echoed incredulously. "You left your hometown to study at the Association, and you didn't think a basic Mystic Code would be at all useful to you?"

"I…it's not as strong as my jewels!" Rin had argued – or tried to argue, though she quickly shut up when Touko shot her a look of absolute disgust.

"Believe what you want, girl," Touko noted after a small eternity. "Regardless, our training sessions will continue as planned, and should you destroy another automaton of mine, you will pay double the replacement cost. Destroy another after that, and the cost will double yet again. And should you lose three times in a row, by not trying your best, well, I suppose Matou will have given up his apprenticeship for nothing."

"What?! But…"

The master puppeteer had merely chuckled at her young apprentice's outrage.

"I'm not unreasonable, apprentice," Aozaki Touko intoned, a thin smile gracing her features. "I'll even supply you with an Azoth dagger, at no cost to you, so you have _something_ to use besides your jewels. How does that sound?"

Tohsaka Rin's mouth had worked open and closed, with no sounds coming out of it.

"Feel free to be stubborn, but we both know that unless you learn to use something besides your jewels, sooner or later you'll run out of them," the elder magus had noted sharply. "You want to make Matou happy, right? Then prove that his sacrifice for your sake wasn't for nothing."

A terrible pallor had crept over Tohsaka's face at those words, when she thought of what Shinji would think of her if she squandered this opportunity.

"…fine," the girl had ground out bitterly, her voice barely audible.

"Hm? What was that?" Touko had inquired with a smirk.

"Yes, Master. I understand," Rin had said more clearly.

"Good," the puppeteer had noted, turning to go. "Oh, and while you're at it, keep working on that other Mystic Code you're building with Lev's help. A magus should never be a one-trick pony, especially when your trick isn't even a particularly interesting one."

* * *

Back in the present, Tohsaka Rin shook her head to clear it of a not entirely welcome recollection. Her Master was not a very pleasant person at the best of times, and didn't hesitate to run roughshod over notions and preferences that had long been central to how she fought.

' _She's ruthless, in her own way. As I would expect of one of the greatest magi in the world. But…'_

It didn't make studying under her any easier.

At least Professor Lev, who she worked with more often, was a rather nice man, who was always willing to answer her questions or give her assistance if she asked for it. Still, the man was more of a researcher than a fighter, and had asked her to talk to someone else with regards to the specifics of her new Mystic Code.

"I can certainly help you create whatever you wish, but you have to know what you wish to make," had been his statement.

She hadn't been about to ask her new _Master_ , given how little she liked working with Touko, but now that Matou was here…

"Matou," she said quietly.

"Yes, Tohsaka?"

"What kind of Mystic Code do you think would suit me?" the girl asked, looking into his eyes. "You've…fought many enemies before. You know what it is like to be in a battle. What would be most useful?"

"What, you ask…" Shinji murmured. "That's…kind of a big question. I do find myself using my wand a decent bit, but that's not what you're asking, is it?"

Rin sighed, ignoring the little voice in her head that was telling her that since Matou used a wand, he wouldn't mind if she did...

"No, I mean, besides a wand," the magus clarified. "I have…I have one of those already. I'm…I'm trying to build one to surprise Master. But I don't know what to make. Something offensive? Something defensive? Something more…"

"Something which would be helpful in situations besides combat," Shinji advised, nodding. "It's no good to be so focused on attack or defense that you forget to consider options outside of it."

"…true," Rin grudgingly admitted. "So you mean something that what, makes me invisible?"

She supposed that a punch that no one saw coming could be quite damaging, but…

"No, that's not what I had in mind," Shinji replied. "Something to improve your mobility, either boosting your speed or helping you navigate tricky footing. Something that lets you see if there's something being hidden from you by magecraft, or if an item has been enchanted in some way."

"Huh, you've put a lot of thought into this, Matou."

"Of course I have," Shinji said agreeably. He'd already seen what a powerful force multiplier something like flow-walking or combat apparition could be, as well as how detrimental it could be if one lost sight of an opponent due to magical manipulation or other such. "I want what's best for you, Tohsaka."

Rin, for her part, just blushed prettily.

"Thank you, Matou," she whispered.

"Anytime," Shinji answered, kissing her hand once more, though he found he had to steady her when she swooned. "Let's get you to a bench, hm?"

Tohsaka nodded, and the two made their way over to a seating area, where they talked idly of many things, with Rin particularly enjoying a chance to talk in Japanese, until their companions found them once again.

* * *

The hours passed by as the group enjoyed their outing around London, though soon enough, after a rather disappointing visit to a KFC, where Rin learned that in the West, the restaurant chain offered no Christmas specials, and after an expedition to retrieve supplies for the night's repast, they returned to Matou Manor to prepare for the coming feast.

This Christmas Eve, the food for the celebration would not be coming from the Hogwarts Kitchens, as Rin was more than a little tired of the Western food served at the dormitory, and so wanted something a bit more familiar. Mashu was fine with that, as she wanted to try out a recipe she'd received from her superior – something about being Christmas appropriate.

And Shinji…well, as a gentleman, he knew better than to insist on things being his way when two lovely ladies argued otherwise.

As such, the kitchen of Matou Manor was quite busy that night, what with several people packed inside, making preparations for a delightful holiday meal.

Shinji, knowing his limits as far as cooking went, had elected to simply prepare ingredients for sukiyaki, cutting succulent wagyu beef into thin slices to be simmered at the table, alongside diced scallions, shiitake mushrooms, leafy greens, tofu, and yam vermicelli, in a shallow iron pot in a mixture of soy sauce, sugar, and mirin.

(Silently, he gave thanks for electric hot-pots, self-served meals and how much easier they made life sometimes – which made him all the more appreciative of the portable galvanism-powered device that Sion had sent him for Christmas. Small enough to be carried in his pocket, it turned prana into a steady source of electricity, meaning he would be able to use electrical appliances in places in the magical world that, unlike his house, had not been fitted with prana to electricity converters).

' _Though if I'm not on a ley-line, I have to worry about draining myself of prana, I suppose…'_

Mashu, for her part, had chosen to prepare some egg noodles to go with what she'd already placed in the oven: a dish of boneless chicken breasts pounded thin, rolled around herb-flavored butter and Monterrey jack cheese, and refrigerated before being battered with a mix of eggs, milk, more herb-flavored butter and panko crumbs, with everything put into oven and baked for about 20 minutes. Chicken Kiev, the dish was called, named for the capital of Ukraine - though the dish was actually of French origin.

Already, Shinji could smell the aromas of the herbs and chicken wafting from the oven, his mouth beginning to water at the thought of the deliciously moist and delicately flavored dish that awaited.

Part of this, of course, was due to the fact that, as a Japanese boy, no Christmas meal was quite complete without chicken of some variety (which Sion, who had provided the recipe knew full well). And part of this was simply how good it smelled.

He told Mashu as much, feeling good as he saw the young woman smile – though he missed how Rin frowned when he complimented the agent of Atlas.

After all, Tohsaka, in addition to wanting a taste of the familiar, had wanted to do something special for Shinji, to show him how much she appreciated everything he had done for her. And so, she had poured her effort into making a dish she was sure he probably hadn't tried before, yet would enjoy. In a way, it was a labor of love, as it was her first time cooking for someone voluntarily (and not out of obligation, unlike the times she'd had to cook for Kotomine).

Thus, in addition to the rice being cooked in a rice cooker, the Tohsaka heiress was preparing the first dish she'd ever learned to make, a dish that through trial and error and repetition, she'd long since perfected, even to the fake priest's exacting standards.

Mapo tofu.

A Sichuan dish named for the pock-marked wife who'd first made it at her husband's restaurant long ago, prepared just as it had been in China. The tofu was poached prior to stir-frying to freshen and tenderize it, with fresh garlic and ginger adding an extra layer of flavor to the chili bean sauce in which the dish was mixed, stirred together with a mixture of minced pork, wood-ear mushrooms, and topped with a lavish sprinkling of scallions and Sichuan-peppercorn powder for a wonderful meal.

Or at least, Kirei had said so. He'd always finished every last bit of it too, so she thought it _had_ to be delicious.

So it was that after seeing Shinji praise Mashu, she shyly offered him a heaping spoonful of the dish, shortly after having used the very same spoon to test the dish for flavor, telling him that she wanted to make something special for him, and she hoped he'd enjoy it...

Shinji, for his part, eyed the bright red quality of the suspension with a bit of trepidation.

Mapo Tofu, eh?

It was true that he hadn't had it before, but…just looking at it was beginning to make his eyes water, though maybe it had been all the Sichuan peppercorn powder and chili bean sauce that Rin had put in earlier.

Still, he reasoned, it would be a terrible thing to hurt Rin's feelings after she had gone through such effort, so he took the spoon and tasted it, his eyes widening as the indescribable hotness hit his tongue – and then the back of his throat as he swallowed.

And swallowed again.

And again, trying to clear the spiciness from his mouth.

"It's…good," he forced out, a smile on his suddenly flushed faced, with Rin thinking that the hesitation was because the boy was enjoying her dish, while in truth it was because he found it difficult to speak with his mouth swelling up so.

"I'm glad," Rin replied, relieved as she turned back to her cooking, as Mashu placed a comforting hand on Shinji's shoulder.

"You've brave, sempai," she told him, a gesture Shinji appreciated, but only a bit, as he asked Zelkova to go to Hogwarts to grab him a glass of milk, which he had heard was a time-honored way to cool his mouth down when water just wouldn't do.

' _And some Christmas cake as well, since I don't think any of us will make any.'_

' _Yes, Master.'_

Thankfully, the milk arrived in time to save his voice, and with the combined efforts of the three cooks, plus the (unknowing) contribution from the Hogwarts House Elves, there was plenty to go around that night – and plenty of leftovers.

Both Mashu and Rin enjoyed his sukiyaki, as neither had previously had much occasion to try the dish, just as Shinji and Rin had dug into the Chicken Kiev with relish, but at the end of the evening, a rather large platter of spicy Mapo Tofu remained – far more than any one person could hope to eat.

' _I hope Rin isn't too disappointed that we didn't eat much of her cooking…'_ he thought, though the boy could see how her face had fallen as he'd taken generous second helpings of the chicken kiev, but had limited himself to a token potion of the Mapo Tofu, declaring that he would save the best for last – only to say, sadly, that he had no room. _'I guess I'll have to take it with me. Somehow. I don't want Tohsaka to feel like her efforts were a waste, after all…'_

But how? He couldn't exactly bring a container of non-western food to Hogwarts, in case he got caught with the "contraband."

' _Ah. I have it. The Book of Potions. Perhaps Zygmunt Budge will appreciate a Christmas treat. Or I can use it as a potions ingredient. Maybe.'_

Or…

' _You haven't eaten anything, Zelkova. Would you like to try some of Tohsaka's cooking?'_

' _That's quite alright, Master. Human food is not necessary for my continued survival,'_ the _kodama_ replied diplomatically, content simply to look on as the group talked and ate long into the night, until it was the eve no more, and with a dramatic flourish, Zelkova delivered the presents the gathered humans had all procured for one another (as he neither asked for, nor gave presents, being a familiar).

For Rin, there was a stuffed black cat from Mashu, with the strawberry blonde explaining that Rin often seemed lonely, as well as a book of runes from Shinji, with the boy noting that her new Master would be appreciative of any efforts she made to learn these arts.

For Mashu, there was a set of lovely silver earrings shaped like lily blossoms from Rin, and a bespoke purple yukata of blended spider silk, possum fur and merino wool, patterned with falling _sakura_ petals, accompanied by intricately patterned red and gold obis and matching parasols, which Shinji said would look good on her if she ever came to Japan (something which only heightened Rin's suspicions regarding the nature of their relationship).

Rin had given Shinji a self-geis scroll, saying that if there was ever anything he needed of her, to merely ask, and she would do it. His gift from Mashu, on the other hand, was a set of contacts that could prevent him from being affected by line-of-sight abilities such as Mystic Eyes of Binding…or the more direct applications of a _satori_ user's abilities.

And of course, Shinji, in his largesse, had one more present for both of them – elegant black dresses from Fashion House LeShin. One (meant for Mashu) was a long black gown patterned with silver traceries, with the one meant for Rin was a more provocative affair, a slinky black number that came down only to mid-thigh, meant to be worn as part of a set with stockings and thigh-high boots. Both, of course, had a built-in suite of hair/eye-color changing charms that could be switched on and off at will (something that Rin first learned when her eyes went grey and her hair went white, much to her shock – and Mashu's amusement).


	56. The Ghostly Court

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 56.** _The Ghostly Court_

As the sun rose bright and clear over Hogwarts on Christmas morning, few of the living rose with it. Why would they, when many of them had caroused long into the night, taking advantage of the end of classes and, for the Castle's military personnel-in-training, the suspension of training exercises and the relaxing of discipline for a week, to celebrate the fact that they had survived yet another year.

Granted, technically speaking, their revels were somewhat premature, as it would not be the end of the year for another week yet, but the denizens of Hogwarts (and Hogsmeade) were not exactly fussed about such particulars, especially their reason to celebrate to rather more literal than in the many years before.

Only months ago, half of Wizarding Britain's population had been slain in a single night, with the few who had been there – yet survived – being forever changed by what they experienced, by what they saw and what they lost.

Some had emerged from the experiences frightened, barely able to leave their homes – or even beds! –for weeks after, so terrified were they of what the next day would bring. Their assumptions and illusions that they were safe in their day to day lives had been shattered, and confronted with the cold realities of a looming war they hid, as best they could.

Some had emerged angry, angry at themselves for being weak, angry at the Ministry for not being able to prevent it, angry at the world (or whatever higher power they believed in) for allowing this to happen – and for taking no action to punish to guilty. They had sworn to themselves that they would become strong, whatever it took, that they would forge themselves into wizards and witches capable of great and terrible things, that when evil came and threatened their homes and families once again – in whatever form it took, they would beat it off and laugh in its face.

Some had emerged twisted by hatred, swearing vengeance upon those they saw as guilty, unconcerned with such trifles as truth or innocence, so long as what they saw as justice came to pass. In seeking to slay monsters, they had become monsters themselves – and in the one case where they acted rashly and openly, had been brutally put down by a man who was far more monstrous than they.

And some didn't know what to think, and were happy to let the Ministry – and the Boy-Who-Lived, the young hero who had bested not only the previous Dark Lord, but a mighty dark wizard who had served Grindelwald, do the thinking for them. They simply carried on as usual, going about their lives as though nothing had happened, save for when circumstances necessitated otherwise.

All of these were represented among the wizarding population of Hogwarts, whether student or Professor, Auror or military trainee, a population under a great deal of tension from without and within, as they went about their routines, factions shifted and formed, and various individuals played games of influence and chance, casting the die and seeing what ends might come.

In other years, tensions had not been ratcheted to such heights, as they had been relieved by the simple expedient of students (and staff) being able to leave the castle now and again, for day trips to Hogsmeade, the Winter Holidays, or simply urgent personal business, but this year, things had been quite different, as no one – save for the Head Auror, the Boy-Who-Lived, and of course the beautiful daughter of the head of the Department of War – had been allowed to leave at all.

Naturally, some arrangement had to be made for the rest, however, lest tension explode into…more pronounced displays of unpleasantness, and so the Winter Festival – as Acting-Headmistress McGonagall, in (very) reluctant cooperation with Gilderoy Lockhart, had styled the weeklong celebration – had come into being, an event marked by public feasting, displays and demonstrations of might and magic, and a distinct lack of enforcement for most minor violations of the rules.

The kitchens were kept busy night and day, as butterbeer and firewhiskey, along with the many foodstuffs they accompanied, flowed like water.

By day, students caroled in the halls, pelted each other with snowballs, watched plays and masques and performances, or held contests of one-ups-manship to see who could cast the most impressive spells, brew the most exquisite potions, or sometimes, stomach the most disgusting flavor of Every Flavor Beans.

By night, of course, some of the carousing and celebration moved _elsewhere_.

Some had received invitations to exclusive parties and receptions, private parties thrown by one Professor or other to honor particularly high-achieving students (or to assess those who seemed especially promising in a more intimate environment).

Some retired to the Common Rooms of their Houses for talk and drink and more private amusements of all sorts, enjoying games of Exploding Snap, Wizards Chess, Gobstones or other such.

And some of course, found out of the way broom closets, bathrooms, classrooms and other unused nooks and crannies of the castle, where they could indulge in simpler pleasures away from the prying eyes of their fellows, whiling away the hours by snogging, shagging or even buggering those they fancied, those whose company they found enjoyable when somewhat inebriated, or those they quite frankly despised (and quite vocally so!).

By comparison, the revels of Professors and Aurors were somewhat more sedate, as they shared glasses of one brew or other, perhaps danced a bit, and talked of many things, from the news to stories of particularly troublesome students and trainees, from what they wished might be or adventures from their own misspent youth, when things had been far more innocent.

And well, in the event more amorous liaisons did occur, well, they had proper beds for _that –_ no need for sneaking around as if they were naughty children _!_

The ghosts of Hogwarts cared not for the revels of the living though, as mortal celebrations of the past and present held no joy for them. They had no wish to reflect on the past year – or on their lives – for their existences were, by nature, reflections of the past, and when they weren't distracted by things in the present, they tended to spend much of their time thinking – or talking – about their regrets – the House Ghosts most of all.

Sir Nicholas, for example, had often brooded about his disastrous attempt to court a lady in waiting by making her more beautiful, and the centuries of torment and ridicule he'd endured as Nearly Headless Nick, though to be fair, since his complete beheading two years ago, his complaints had all but stopped, as the _new_ experienceof being a Headless Huntman was still – startlingly – novel and strange.

The Fat Friar, while quite genial to students, had been known to complain to his fellow ghosts – at great length and volume – about the unfairness of his lot in life, as he considered it positively unjust that he had been executed for being able to cure the pox! Left unsaid, of course, was the fact that he had claimed that his miraculously healing power was a gift from God, allowing people to think him a living Saint in the thought that it might improve his chances of being made a bishop – no, a cardinal, which had led quite understandably to his execution as a heretic and a witch.

(After all, if the Church had slain legitimate saints such as Jeanne d'Arc due to political motivations, a mere fake such as the Fat Friar would be treated no better.)

The Bloody Baron, by contrast, had developed a reputation for silent brooding – something that some, including Peeves, the resident Poltergeist, and most of the students of Hogwarts, considered intimidating, though his fellow ghosts mostly thought him pretentious, needlessly angsty, and fairly bad company in general. Yes, yes, he'd probably died a terrible and unjust death – but so had everyone else, and you didn't see _them_ carrying heavy chains, and groaning and clanking in the Astronomy Tower at all hours!

And then there was the Grey Lady, who in life had been Helena Ravenclaw – though few enough knew that as she was even _less_ talkative than the Bloody Baron, at least to her fellow ghosts. She preferred the company of the living, particularly those who were witty, charming and considerate – which often, but did not always, mean Ravenclaws.

That this meant she often lingered around the replica of her mother's diadem in the Common Room of the House, or had cause to wander past one of the tapestries depicting her as she had been in life, was something few of the living ever thought about.

There were other ghosts, of course, such as Edmund Grubb, who had gorged himself to death during one of the Hogwarts Feasts many years ago, and had in fact, died in the doorway of the Dining Hall, a Black Knight who had died of blood loss after losing his arm in a duel (for which he'd refused treatment, claiming out of misplaced pride that it was merely a flesh wound), Moaning Myrtle, who haunted the bathrooms of the castle and was known to harass particularly good looking boys, and Professor Cuthbert Binns, the only ghost in the history of Britain to hold a faculty position.

The last of these, being the second newest ghost at Hogwarts, had the responsibility of organizing the annual Christmas gathering for his fellow spirits. Ordinarily, the duty would have fallen to the newest of them, but all had agreed that Moaning Myrtle was both too flighty to be a good organizer and would not at all be suitable for the role of hostess, so _Professor_ Binnshad retained the position.

This was simply the first year that the Spectral Celebration had been officially recognized by the living, as, in accordance with the acting Headmistress' instructions, it had been listed on the official Hogwarts Calendar of Events, like every other Professor-run gathering. Of course, like those other events, attendance was invitation-only, at least for the living and for Peeves.

His fellow late wizards and witches needed no such thing, as few would be able to stop them from crashing a party if they wanted to attend, and besides, this, even more so than Deathday celebrations, was something for _them_.

Still, he supposed that it wouldn't be remiss to invite perhaps one – or two – of the living, again, especially with the Grey Lady asking him to do so as a personal favor, as she did once or twice a century. In his experience, it was almost always worth listening to her requests, and well, even if he wasn't already inclined to do so…

'… _one of them is allowing me to borrow their Tower, so it would only be polite.'_

* * *

In the small hours of the morning, just after the sun rose above the horizon, Matou Shinji and Luna Lovegood found themselves standing before the entrance to Founders Tower, having meandered there, hand in hand, after a pleasant night together in the Room of Requirement.

Shinji, who had never quite been a morning person, was blinking as he re-read the invitation he held in his hands, the jet-black envelope serving as quite the contrast to the elegant white robes of white he woe, decorated with patterns of silver and pale blue that resembled vines (or perhaps circuits) and almost glowed in the light.

"Are you…sure about this, Luna?" the boy from the east inquired of his companion, who was attired in a white gown with similar stylings – one very much like that which she wore when fused with Zelkova, though she was not fused today.

The outfit was one of Shinji's gifts to her, as the _onmyouji_ , having been rather taken with her appearance during the Halloween Ball the year before, and modelling LeShin's Moonlight collection after it, had gifted her the first dress made for the Collection – one akin to those the Champions would wear during their dance later in the day.

"You wouldn't rather do something else?" he continued, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't mind just spending a few hours with you walking around the castle, or enjoying the gardens, instead of…"

The young practitioner of witchcraft trailed off, recalling the noise that had passed for music and the frankly rotten food during Headless Nick's Deathday Celebration. That had been no place for the living, as much as he'd made the most of it.

Luna squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"Trust me," the blonde said dreamily, with Shinji nodding, just as Professor Binns himself came through the door.

"Ah, Mister Matou. Miss Lovegood," the ghostly Professor said at the sight of them, his voice dry and reedy, much like an old vacuum cleaner. His spectral eyes widened as he took in the matching outfits for the young people before him, of a quality unlike anything he'd seen before – not that he was by any means an expert in modern fashion. "Merry Christmas to you."

"And to you, Professor Binns," Luna replied, as Shinji simply nodded, surprised to see Binns so… _lucid_ , given how he remembered him from his first year.

"It is not often that we invite live ones to our Yuletide gathering," Binns noted with grave solemnity. "Not since young Tom Riddle more than fifty years ago, in fact."

"We're honored," the _onmyouji_ answered with a small bow, even as his mind raced at the mention of Tom Riddle. "Riddle, you said?"

"Yes, a charming young man, with many questions, much like you," Binns commented. "The Grey Lady's favorite, once upon a time."

"Ah. I see," Shinji remarked. He supposed that Tomas _could_ be charming if he chose to, though he had never seen it for himself – not that Tomas had any reason to be charming towards him.

"I do wonder what became of him," the ghostly professor mused absently. "He always seemed destined for great things…"

Shinji, for his part, said nothing, as he thought it was a kindness that the former History Professor didn't know what had become of his old student.

"But here I am, lost in the past, when my thoughts should be anywhere but there on today of all days!" Binns remarked, something like a laugh escaping his lips. "Where are my manners? Come in, come in!" the ghost insisted, beckoning at the _closed_ door.

"Thank you," Luna said kindly, as she slid her keycard and wand into the corresponding slots in the doorframe, and the wall parted for her and her companion. With her hand tucked into the crook of her companion's elbow, they ascended the stairs together, as they had when she had first been inducted into the Stone Cutters, more than a year ago.

"Nervous?" She asked the boy beside her, as he had asked her, long ago.

"Not with you by my side," Shinji replied with a warm smile, causing his companion's cheeks to color rosily, and her hand to tighten about his arm.

When they reached the top, they found that all the ghosts of the Castle – and Peeves – had gathered there, with Headless Nick bowing to them, sweeping his head off his neck, as some might do with a hat, and the Grey Lady simply nodding and gesturing to two seats near her.

"Ghosts of Hogwarts, honored guests," the voice of Cuthbert Binns rang out, as all took their spaces. "Welcome to our Yuletide gathering. As with every other year, we assemble in Founders Tower, a place of many memories, and much history, but we do not do so to remember. We remember enough each day of our existences. We see the past and the present, and wonder, always, what might have been, had a different path been taken."

"Live ones celebrate the end of the year with earthy revels, with food and drink and song, but that is not for us this day. The pleasures of the flesh are beyond us, and so too, the power to change our fate."

"Yet our fate can be changed," the pearly white form of Headless Nick interjected, as the Gryffindor House ghost glancing over at Matou Shinji. "Or am yet Nearly Headless, young Cuthbert?"

A round of chuckles broke out, though Binns merely nodded.

"You are not, Sir Nicholas, but what changed your fate was not you – but a live one," the Professor noted, as the others made a considering sound. "He who was close to Miss Sokaris, who walks with a spirit, and who is the companion of Miss Lovegood here, who is a good influence on Peeves and has graciously allowed us to use the Tower, even though she is present at Hogwarts."

"If by good influence you mean she allows Peeves to chase witches and wizards with knives, and has made him more dangerous," Nick grumbled repressively, shooting the poltergeist, in his usual form of a little man with wickedly slanted orange eyes and outlandish hat, a dark look.

"Peevesy's job as a Stone Cutter – training the wee ones!" Peeves shot back, as Binns sighed.

"Be that as it may, this gathering – unlike Halloween – is not about the present. For us, live ones, the Yule is a time of stories. Not stories of our lives, of things already set in stone, but of those whose fates have yet to be written. For us, the Yule is a time of possibilities and might yet bes, of dreaming, the one day a year when we are free to imagine."

"On this day," the Grey Lady interjected, speaking up for the first time in a good while, "we recount the future. We speak of things that might yet be as if they are things that yet have been, and so see something new."

Something fresh.

"Each of us will tell a tale – or several – concerning a person yet living, one who might one day number among us," Binns smoothly continued, picking up where the Grey Lady had left off. "And then, we will part, returning to the present."

Out of the corner of his eye, Shinji could see Peeves fidgeting.

"Peeves, since you're so anxious to speak, why don't you begin?" the former History Professor said dryly, as the strangely dressed Peeves rose into air and bowed with a deep flourish.

A deathly hush fell over the room as he gestured for silence, and then, the poltergeist began to speak.

"Did you ever hear the tragedy of the Boy-Who-Lived?" he asked in a low, conspiratorial voice, glancing over at the gathered ghosts – and very carefully _not_ at the living invitees. "I thought not," Peeves said with satisfaction. "It's not a story the living would tell you. It's a ghost tale – tale of death and dying – and betrayal."

Shinji frowned at this, though he thought it would probably be rude to interrupt.

"In life, the Boy-Who-Lived was a legend among the British," Peeves related, "so talented and gifted in magic that even the Killing Curse could not touch him. He was a very _ambitious_ sort, who wanted to protect everyone, and for a time he did, with abilities few had ever seen in the West."

The poltergeist trailed off and shrugged, apparently coming to the end of his narration.

"…and then what happened?" the Fat Friar demanded.

Peeves smirked.

"In rising to the Wizengamot, he became powerful, so powerful that the only thing he truly feared was losing all he had gained, lest he no longer have the ability to protect those in his sight. Yet lose it he did," the poltergeist said into the quiet, pausing to laugh – an oily, unpleasant sound that Shinji had never heard before. "Tragically, he trusted his oldest friend with everything he knew, and in the end, his oldest friend betrayed him. Ironic, that in his quest to protect everyone, he could not even protect himself."

"If you want a story, how about that of Rachelle Lestrange?" someone spoke just as Peeves finished, with Shinji realizing a moment later that _he_ was the one who had spoken – and more than that, that he had jumped to his feet, with the eyes of all present on him. "A great beauty of Beauxbatons, who had no interest in things like love or music, who wanted nothing more than to become the greatest Alchemist in the world. She was a master potioneer, descended from an ancient line, and possessed powers and abilities some might consider…unnatural."

"Unnatural?" the Fat Friar questioned, somewhat peevishly that he'd gone out of turn.

"Necromancy," Shinji stated bluntly, smirking as he saw some of the ghosts – and Peeves – shudder at the mere mention of the fearful word. "With runes and potions and a blade as ancient as it was terrible, capable of severing even souls, she was a beautiful grim reaper, with no equal on the battlefield, until one day she met her true rival, or perhaps her perfect match in brewing…and war."

"What? You mean you?" one of the ghosts in the audience sniggered. The speaker was an armless Knight Shinji didn't remember meeting. "Rather poor taste to tell a story about yourself, I say. Especially a love story featuring another woman when yours is right here."

"No, not I," the boy from the east demurred, his eyes flashing in the dim blue light. "A woman from a land of winter and old night, who had no use for titles or appearances or the trappings of power, merely the victories it made possible. They clashed. Tested one another. And eventually found that they understood one another, as love blossomed on the battlefield."

The boy trailed off, with some of the ghosts looking at each other as if to ask 'was that it?'

"And then what happened?" Sir Nicholas all but demanded, giving voice to their collective frustration. "Did she become the greatest Alchemist in the world, with this mysterious new witch by her side? Did she lose her lover and become a Dark Witch out of vengeance? Did she give up her arts to pursue a career in oh, pottery or some other nonsense? Don't just leave us hanging!"

"She helped save the world," Shinji said cryptically. "Alongside a giant who carried the world on his shoulders."

With that, Shinji sat down, leaving the audience fairly unsatisfied. For while Matou Shinji was many things, after all, a master storyteller was not one of them, not yet. Some began to wonder if he should have been invited at all, even if he had done them a service, or if—

"An interesting tale," Professor Binns interjected, before the murmurs and whispers of discontent could become any more than that. "It reminds me of a goblin story. Those, you see, always have a hole in the middle, for a listener to fill in. Haven't heard one of those in a long time. Not suitable for the tastes of most wizards, but interesting all the same. Miss Lovegood, why don't we hear your story?"

"Then I will tell it," Luna said, rising to her feet in a single fluid motion, a strange lilt in her voice as her silver eyes opened wide and golden light played about her fingertips. "A story of a young man who fled from death, and the puppeteer who saved him…"

Some of the others leaned closer as the youngest of the Stone Cutters began to speak in the ethereal, dreamlike manner in which she usually did, weaving patterns of light and color to accompany her words.

"His story begins, they say, with a lost diadem. The very one lost by Rowena Ravenclaw, then found then lost then found again, the last time by a simple boy from the east. He didn't know what it was when he saw it, or what it was truly worth, merely that his master would find it interesting, so he offered it to her as a gift."

The Grey Lady looked at Luna with narrowed eyes, trying to assess what parts of what she said was the truth, and what was merely…possibility.

"He didn't know, of course, that within the diadem was a lost bit of soul. The last remnant of a man who had run from death, seeking a way to become immortal to escape his greatest fear. His wish, as so many are, was granted, but in the cruelest way possible, as having been severed from his mortal form by the last Dark Lord, his spirit was bound to this earth and could no longer age," the petite blonde continued. "The boy's master, a puppeteer with flame bright hair who turned stone and wood into flesh and blood, found this spirit, and gave him life once more."

"Life?"

"As much of one as one of her well-made puppets might enjoy. As she herself might enjoy," came the enigmatic reply. "At first, he was bound to serve, to pay his debt to the master puppeteer, but in time, as he grew and served and thought, he began to wonder why he had been brought back to life. What his purpose? What had been _her_ purpose in reviving him? The puppeteer told him that a purpose was something he needed to discover _that_ for himself. That for him to truly live, he needed to choose. After all, a man chooses. A slave obeys."

"And just what did he choose?" the Grey Lady asked, regarding Luna intensely. "To run once more from death? To trick and connive and raise an army? To become a conqueror like the Dark Lord who struck him down?"

"None of these," Luna murmured, as those listening leaned closer. "He realized one day that he couldn't keep running. That he had to face the Dark Lord or forever be a slave to fear, for part of him knew that the Dark Lord, though stricken, lived yet. That his ancient enemy was biding his time, gathering his strength before he returned in glory. And too, he knew that just as the Dark Lord had slain him in a ritual to guarantee his own, so must he, given form once more, strike down the Dark Lord, for neither might live while the other survived."

"This man's name?" Helena Ravenclaw all but demanded. "What is his name, child?"

"Tomas," Shinji broke in, his voice fey and distant, as all eyes turned to him. "His name is Tomas. A scion of Peverell."

For a time, all were silent, with the Grey Lady's face taking on a very thoughtful expression.

"What happens next?" one of those in the audience asked. "Does he win? Or…"

"The future has yet to be written," Luna said quietly. "But I'd like to think he would. The world needs more happy endings. There are enough tragedies, don't you think?"

With that she sat down, and the storytelling went on, as one then another wove tales of possibilities – some of the Chamber of Secrets being opened, of student athletes growing up to become professional Qudditch players (even leading the Chudley Cannons to victory in one of the more incredulous stories), of vampire conspiracies and charismatic wizards leading goblin rebellions, of love and loss and love regained.

Happy stories. Sad stories. Tales of fathers and sons, of mothers and daughters, of likely truths and blatant improbabilities.

Some feared to say too much with live ones present, lest they give offense to one who could harm them, yet as their guests simply listened and asked, they grew more comfortable, more open, until at last, even the Baron told a story.

His choice was a love story, as it always was. One with a happy ending, too.

Once or twice during the tale, Moaning Myrtle acted somewhat inappropriately, moving to sidle up to the live male, but each time she froze under the intense scrutiny of two silver eyes, which all of the sudden seemed much less dreamy than they had moments before.

She contented herself with a simple question to the Boy from the East.

"…so your master can grant spirits new life?" she asked quietly.

Shinji, after some seconds, had nodded, sending something like an electric current through Myrtle, whose most desperate desire was to live again. Having died as a teenage girl, mind frozen forever in the hormonal excesses of puberty, yet never being able to experience any hint of physical pleasure was simply...unbearable.

New life.

But…everyone knew that true resurrection was…

"Are you lying?" she hissed. "If you are..."

"Why would I lie?" the boy asked diffidently. He had nothing to prove, after all. Not to those who were already dead.

 _'A second chance at life.'_

Myrtle swallowed, as did some of the others who had been listening in on their little tête-à-tête. Just who _was_ Matou Shinji, if his master could do such a thing? No, _what_ was he?

…and what would be the price for a true second chance?

Of course, none of them asked _that_ of him during the gathering, as much as many dearly wanted to. Even for people, the traditions of hundreds of years are hard to break, and much more so for ghosts, so they simply listened and talked and spun their yarns, and when they left, it was with a precious gift none of them had known in many, many years.

Hope.

* * *

Not that Shinji's own hopes for the Yule Ball – that it would cause no trouble for him – ended up coming true later that day. Not when the next day's edition of the _Daily Prophet_ prominently featured two pictures on the front page.

The first, of course, was he and Fleur holding each other close in matching outfits of white and silver, as they danced to open the Yule Ball, almost like a bride and groom at their wedding. The second, however, was far more damning, and featured the part-Veela sleeping contentedly in his arms, with the two nestled together intimately, without a care in the world, under one blanket on the morning after.


	57. Ethics in Journalism

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 57**. _Ethics in Journalism_

Horace Slughorn grimaced as the clock in his office struck midnight, and Christmas Day of 1994 slipped away into the past, with his work for the evening not quite finished. Under ordinary circumstances he would enjoying a rather large glass of wine about now, instead of troubling himself with something as troublesome as writing an article for the propaganda machine the _Daily Prophet_ had become _,_ but then, it wasn't as if he had much of a choice.

Not if he wanted to go to the Isle of Thule to cover the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship as a Special Correspondent for the _Prophet._

' _I would much rather go in place of the Boy-Who-Lived, but neither he nor Mister Matou seem to appreciate all the time and effort I have gone through on their behalf. Mister Potter is busy, I understand, but as for Mister Matou, between wasting my time by skipping out on our tutorials without a word, sullying his image – and mine, as his teacher – with his lecherous antics, and failing to invite me to the Isle at all, I have become rather tired of dealing with him.'_

It really _was_ too bad that the Wizengamot would not allow the Boy-Who-Lived to participate in the Championship – or even go to the isle – due to the possible risks to his person, as he would have made for a far better representative of the British people than the current selection. Still, knowing how the game was played, Slughorn had been expecting to profit from the boy's misfortune, with Potter either giving him his ticket directly, or – more likely – passing it to Matou, as a way for the boy to make up for the trouble he'd caused.

Alas, proving he was a true ignoramus where politics and favors were concerned, the Potions Champion of Hogwarts (and what a joke that was, given his inexperience and how shoddy he was at potions!) had _not_ passed along the item in question, forcing him to resort to calling in a number of favors from some of his former students.

' _Frustrating. Utterly frustrating.'_

All things considered, though, that was of a piece with the rest of the year so far.

Being perfectly honest, he'd only returned to the position of Potions Master of Hogwarts because the prospect of becoming known as the mentor for the Boy-Who-Lived and the British Potions Champion had been too much to pass up, especially if the Hogwarts representative were to become World Champion – a title that the school had not held in over a hundred years.

That had been before the Quidditch Incident, and all the changes that had happened since, such as Britain deciding to conscript Seventh Years as the core of a new army, Harry Potter being given official responsibilities as Youth Representative (and becoming far too busy to be trained), and...the boy who had been selected as British Potions Champion going insane and throwing away all the goodwill he'd garnered over the past three years out of some misguided quest for justice.

In that, Slughorn thought the Champion to be an idealistic fool, who didn't understand how the world worked – especially when he was a foreigner in a country not his own, and so poisoned the reputations of everyone around him.

' _It is simply too bad that Miss Lovegood_ _is utterly enthralled by him, given how the recent press coverage has made clear how much he has been taking advantage of her trust. I hope the young lady finds it within herself to leave him, before he does something even he cannot justify.'_

Still, if his frustrations had been limited to that caused by the misadventures of an overly hormonal Champion, his time at Hogwarts wouldn't have been a complete waste, since he could have still sought students who were well connected, or showed true promise in some field of magic for his inner circle.

Alas, Gilderoy Lockhart, of all people, had already covered that avenue, with his Ourea being well-regarded as a possible stepping stone to joining the Stone Cutter Society (due to Miss Lovegood having done just that), and his Consul system – even more so than becoming a prefect – was considered a good way for students to learn about leadership in action.

For the life of him, Slughorn couldn't understand just _how_ someone he remembered as a lazy, attention-seeking boy who never bothered honing either his magic or his social skills, had managed to rise so far – or how Lockhart was now able to mentor others.

The Potions Master was also more than half-convinced that the Winter Festival was something that Lockhart had proposed to snub him, given that Slughorn's invitations to private parties and gatherings were not seen as anything special when most professors were issuing them – including the _so-called greatest adventurer in Britain._

(Oh, how it rankled for students to turn down invitations to his events in favor of those thrown by that young upstart!)

Every one of the candidates he wished to cultivate for the future had already been drawn into Lockhart's sphere of influence, and with the heightened security restrictions around Hogwarts, it wasn't as if he could invite a celebrity guest or two to his gatherings to try and lure them away by showing them how far former members of the Slug Club had risen.

Indeed, the only two celebrities who were often in the castle were Gilderoy Lockhart himself and Luna Lovegood, the young Stone Cutter who ran the Ourea, and was thus clearly in the adventurer's orbit.

He'd hoped that by being the mentor to Harry Potter and...the Potions Champion, he could counter this to extent, but…

'… _things just didn't work out, I suppose.'_

He found himself wondering sometimes it would even be worth returning to Hogwarts next year, or if he should just go back into retirement again, so that he wouldn't have to deal with Aurors every day, create lesson plans, or chafe under travel restrictions that meant he couldn't even go to Hogsmeade or see his old students whenever he wished.

' _Surely they could find someone to replace me. Or maybe not. I don't think Severus encouraged many people to pursue potions, with severe demeanor and lack of compassion. Brilliant potioneer, that one, but utterly wasted as a professor. Frankly, he would have been better suited as an Unspeakable.'_

The man sighed, shaking his head.

If only young Severus had been younger still, Slughorn wouldn't have minded seeing _him_ as Potions Champion.

But it was not to be, and instead Britain was stuck with…who they were stuck with.

An immature, overconfident boy of middling skill who hadn't devoted himself to preparing for the Championship, didn't begin to realize just how outclassed he was, and frankly, didn't have any business being the British Champion when he wasn't even a British Citizen.

What had young Severus been _thinking,_ when he picked _that boy_ for such a position?

' _Perhaps he took leave of his senses. He must have, to leave Hogwarts – and his position on the International Potions Committee – before the Championship.'_

If it had been Slughorn on that Committee…

'… _but it wasn't. And so, when I go to the isle – if I go the isle, I will not have a seat among the members of the Committee. I will not be honored as one of them. I will likely not be treated with the respect due a Master Potioneer.'_

After all, he'd be going as a member of the press.

' _Which, all said and told, is better than not going at all, so I had best return to writing that piece for the_ Prophet. _If I don't get it finished and sent off soon, it won't be part of this morning's edition, and if it isn't, even my old student may not be able to guarantee me the position of Special Correspondent. Not if someone like Gilderoy Lockhart were to seek it, given his own contacts with the_ Prophet _.'_

And so, in wee hours of the morning, the Potions Master of Hogwarts wrote on, until eventually something approaching publishable was finished, and he sent it out to London, hoping that it had been in time.

* * *

That morning, on page two of the _**Daily Prophet**_ , a small article ran. Perhaps, had there not been a scandal of epic proportions involving the British Potions Champion and the part-Veela Fleur Delacour, it would have made the front page, with a picture of Matou Shinji with Hector Dagworth-Granger, the founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers – who had endorsed him as Champion.

As it was, however, it was not deemed prominent or catchy enough for the front page, as the editors of the _Prophet_ knew that a picture of the beautiful veela with the British Champion would sell many copies, especially the compromising position they had been photographed in.

Still, for those who read beyond the front page and were genuinely curious about the upcoming Championship, the article was an interesting introduction to the topic, even if it was, in some places, a _bit_ sparing on the details.

 _ **CHAMPION OF THE WORLD?**_ _  
_by Horace Slughorn, Special Correspondent, Daily Prophet

 _Across the breadth and width of the Wizarding World, magical nations often disagree - fiercely - on a number of fronts, blustering at one another in outrage over violations of the Statute of Secrecy (to which this correspondent agrees with former Minister Bagnold's assertion of a nation's inalienable right to party!), disgruntlement over poorly written - or implemented - trade agreements, or the often disgraceful behavior of young people in the less civilized portions of the world._

 _In the area of education especially, the International Confederation of Warlocks (of which Britain is no longer a member) has even been asked to weigh in whether the what children are taught should be left in the hands of each magical nation, allowing outmoded traditions and inefficient customs to linger due to sentiment, or whether education should be standardized according to modern principles, with students trained in the use of wands and not in the use of the Dark Arts, such as is the case at Hogwarts, which many consider to be the finest educational institution in the world._

 _Still, for all the disagreements that inevitably arise in any interaction between people - and nations - once every seven years, the wizarding world puts aside its issues, turning its attention instead to the Isle of Thule, where the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship, a competition of potioneering skill and magical excellence, has been held since its inception in 1407._

 _On that ancient isle, the last foothold of some of the most dangerous magical beasts in the history of the world, representatives from each of the Confederation-accredited schools will gather for an ordeal that will test their mind, body and soul, as they strive to become not simply the Champion of their respective institution of learning, but Champion of the World._

 _In all the centuries in which the Championship has been held, there have been only a handful of schools deemed worthy of competing on that grand stage, with the highest prize usually going to one of four venerable institutions._

 _The Uagadou School of Magic, the largest wizarding school in Africa, and perhaps the oldest in the world._

 _Mahoutokoro, the smallest of the eleven accredited schools, but a worthy competitor, all the same._

 _Koldovstorez, one of the newest of the accredited schools, with a reputation for savagery._

 _And of course, Hogwarts, the finest institution of learning in the Wizarding World, which had the honor of producing the very first World Champion of Potioneering._

 _Unfortunately, this year, the International Confederation of Warlocks has chosen to compromise the ancient principles on which the Championship was founded by allowing any Confederation-accredited school to send a representative to the Championship, without mandating some minimum qualification in the strength of a school's potions curriculum or some test to ensure that only capable Champions are permitted to compete._

 _While this correspondent has no doubt of the skill that will be demonstrated by the representatives of Koldovstorez, Mahoutokoro, and Uagadou, one must wonder what upstarts like those from Ilvermorny or_ _Qausuittuq_ _are doing in this challenge, or for that matter a student of Durmstrang, when by all accounts, the curricula of these schools is slanted towards the Dark Arts and magical warfare, not the subtle art of potions._

 _Are such as_ they _taught to stopper death, bottle fame, brew glory?_

No.

 _No, they are not, and yet they will be here, sullying this hallowed ground, and so must be included on the roster of this year's competitors,_ _who are as follows:_

 _Ayaka Sajyou, Champion of **Mahoutokoro** , a raven-haired witch who practices the Eastern mysteries and is said to have a special talent for Herbology._

 _Olu Akindele, Champion of **Uagadou** , a capable wizard known for being a Hippopotamus animagus and the former captain of Uagadou's synchronized transformation team._

 _Mischa Stukov, Champion of **Koldovstorez** , a young prodigy in the world of Alchemy and a powerful duelist, said to be descended from the hero who defeated their own Dark Lord._

 _Rachelle Lestrange, Champion of **Beauxbatons** , a Alchemist descended from the founder of the Center of Alchemial Studies, with a reputation for ruthlessness and a penchant for poisons._

 _Rachelle Sondrol, Champion of **Durmstrang** , a student of the Dark Arts, unofficially styled Field Marshal of the Durmstrang Institute for her martial prowess._

 _Elesa Labelle, Champion of **Ilvermorny** , a popular model in wizarding America._

 _Ka'aukai Kapule, Champion of **Nu'utea Kohu** , master astronomer and Chief Navigator of the Ever-Distant Fleet. Also said to be a whale animagus._

 _Libatius Müller, Champion of **Castelobruxo** , author of Have Yourself a Fiesta in a Bottle! 2, a modern followup to the work by noted ancestor Libatius Borage._

 _Parambir Agarwal, Champion of **Tamirsthana** , the school founded for colonials in what the Muggles styled the British Empire, noted for his skill in transfiguration._

 _Ramona Ahgeak, Champion of **Qausuittuq** , an Inupiat witch with a talent for divination and ice charms._

 _And of course, Shinji Matou, Champion of **Hogwarts** , who needs no introduction._

 _In the weeks to come, they will compete both for national honor, and for personal glory, risking it all to leave their mark on the world._

 _Who will live, who will die, and who will be crowned as Champion of the World?_

 _It is not this correspondent's place to speculate, though one hopes that the competition will be thrilling, and victor, deserving of the highest honor the authorities of the wizarding world can bestow._

* * *

Oddly, the most newsworthy event of the evening did not make the papers, but that was understandable, as very few knew it had happened at all. And even if more had known, if one was to say that Draco Malfoy had awakened from his coma, one would then have to explain just how he got there, and that was a mess the Office of Information simply wouldn't allow to be published.


	58. The Morning After

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 58.** _The Morning After_

Twas the day after Christmas, and at the Durmstrang Institute, the Yule Ball had occurred just the night before. Part of the pageantry and spectacle of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, it had been both a formal dance open to all above fourth year, as well as the conclusion of the Second Task, with the Tri-Wizard Champions revealing the artifacts whose pieces they had painstakingly located and assembled over the last month, which upon activation had turned the drab castle of Durmstrang into a grotto of light and color, much to the surprise and elation of those present.

The organizers had wanted to create an event that would give the attendees of the Tournament a night of their own, after all, a time and place where students of the three competing schools could mingle and relax in the spirit of both the holidays and international cooperation.

Not that the _students_ who had attended the Ball had generally had such high and lofty ideals on their minds.

Most of those from Hogwarts had simply been happy to enjoy an evening of leisure in the company of their peers, without the daily travails of classes, drills, and duties, the artificial barriers to socialization imposed by the Banners, or the forced integration with students from the other school. Most of those from Beauxbatons had enjoyed the opportunity to dress up in finery, and mingle with other attractive people their age, indulging in the delights of an evening of flirtation and networking, much more like what they were accustomed to.

Most of those from Durmstrang, of course, had also appreciated the opportunity to interact with the international counterparts in a setting outside of classes and duties, in a fine start to the school's short week of holiday leave. Until the New Year, there would be no classes, and small groups of students from the school would be allowed to either to take liberty in Longyearbyen or to explore the archipelago under the guidance of their more seasoned colleagues – privileges that were not extended to the isle's visitors.

As the hosts of this iteration of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, however, none, save for the Champions, could afford to fully take the evening off, as it was their responsibility to ensure that the Yule Ball went smoothly, which, given that Durmstrang had no house elves to handle cooking and cleaning, that attendees of such revels were sometimes known to overindulge in drink after a long period without such luxuries, and that several Champions had been _attacked_ earlier in the year, had posed no small degree of difficulty.

At Hogwarts, the presence of the House Elves, and the magic used to transport finished dishes from the kitchen to the tables above tended to render moot any concerns about both providing a large enough variety of quality food that all attendees could find something they liked – and providing enough of it quickly enough to ensure no one grew irritable. At Durmstrang, however, where the cooking and serving of food was done by members of the student body, this meant that many of the Institute's best cooks, who would have otherwise liked to enjoy the Ball, had been detailed to mess duty, with others, drawn by random lot from the more attractive individuals at the school, being assigned to serve as wait staff.

The other major concern for any large gathering had been not only ensuring the safety of the event's attendees, but doing so without causing alarm or anxiety among them. Certainly, the last thing the Council of the Host wanted was for some British terrorist to decide that the Yule Ball, both as a symbol of international cooperation and as an event with many high value targets (the Champions) in attendance, presented an opportunity for mayhem and murder that simply could not be passed up. However, it would not do to panic their guests either, and so ruin their evening with the mere suggestion that danger was about, especially when many of them would be enjoying their first reprieve from the rigors of the arctic that night.

Thus, security fell to the Commander of the Banner of Serpents, Radu Eshkol Mann, and his handpicked cadre of Shadows, all of whom were skilled in operating under disillusionment (and employing other forms of stealth) for extended periods of time, and had been fitted with headgear that allowed them to see through concealment (like the eye of the late Alastor Moody), track the positions of their colleagues (who wore linked devices), and communicate with their fellows through converting their subvocalizations to text on a sort of face-mounted display.

For these worthies, there would be no opportunity for those to cavort and revel this night, but then, none was necessary. To them, a job well done was its own reward, and to be chosen to serve, all the honor they needed.

They did their duty, through the evening and the long night, and were doing it still, when morning came, whatever morning meant in a place where the sun did not rise, and one of the guests of honor of the event, stirred from his slumber.

* * *

On a long settee to the side of the Great Hall of Durmstrang, Matou Shinji slowly opened his eyes, yawning as he blinked away the blurriness in them. The night had gone well, he thought, with the dresses – and dress robes – he'd provided for his fellow Champions making quite a stir among the attendees.

With any luck, there would be more orders coming in soon for Fashion House LeShin, which was good, as he needed to have some kind of income to survive, especially if he could no longer rely on the dwindling resources of the Room of Requirement.

' _I hadn't expected so many of Beauxbatons girls to ask me to dance though…'_ he mused, wondering why so many of the younger ones wanted to spend time in his company. _'Or for them to seem so cheerful when I had to decline, explaining that a true gentleman should prioritize his companion for the evening.'_

He chalked it up to some quirk of the French that he simply hadn't encountered before, given that he had only really spent time around the two Champions of Beauxbatons, neither of whom were exactly typical students of the school.

Speaking of Fleur…

' _I'm glad she had a good time last night. And that she liked the dress.'_

The part-Veela had seemed to barely be standing when he'd first seen her on Christmas, having just returned to the castle earlier that morning. She'd waved him off when he asked how she was, saying that things were fine, but Shinji had been unconvinced. Having been out in the frozen wastes of Svalbard himself until recently, he could imagine what an ordeal the Second Task must have been like for her, given that she'd not been able to take even a sleeping bag or tent to sleep in, or much in the way of food.

As her assigned date, he had considered his duty as a gentleman to make sure the evening was enjoyable for her, even if under normal circumstances, she would likely never give him the time of day, a feeling that was amplified when he took her hand for the Champions Waltz, and was struck by just how beautiful she was.

Intellectually, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised, as he knew she was Etoile of Beauxbatons, and had helped to design the dress she was wearing that night, yet seeing her clad in that gown wrought of spun moonlight, shining with a quiet sense of satisfaction, even he had been rendered breathless.

' _Well. I wasn't the only one,'_ he told himself. Many of the young woman in attendance had been quite envious of Fleur's dress, and many of the young men struck dumb – even some from Hogwarts, who would ordinarily have nothing good to say about her.

Indeed, there had been many suitors who had approached her that night, eager for an opportunity to dance with, or try to court the charming Champion of Beauxbatons…and perhaps to see if there was any truth to the old rumors of how insatiable she was, but she'd rebuffed them all, declaring her intent to spend the evening with her gallant bodyguard instead.

And he'd granted her wish, whiling away the hours with the lovely part-Veela, talking, laughing, and more, as both recounted bits and pieces from their respective journeys into the wastes.

During that time, some had approached him or her, but neither really had eyes for anyone else that night, with Fleur even refusing an offer to dance from George – something that Shinji had been mildly surprised about, since his fellow Stone Cutter was not a bad looking fellow – even if she'd looked a bit wistful as the redhead walked away.

She'd asked him about the dress, the Potions Competition, and if he wouldn't rather be spending his time with the Etoile Noire, though Shinji had shaken his head at the last.

It was true that, after the Champions Waltz, Rachelle Lestrange had left Viktor Krum to his own devices, as she'd not had any interest in the international Quidditch star, but the moment she had, Rachelle Sondrol, the statuesque redhead who was Potions Champion of Durmsrang, had accosted her and asked her to dance.

To the surprise of those watching, Lestrange, who had been cold to almost all others, had accepted the Field Marshal's invitation, and for the rest of the evening, they had been inseparable, their bodies moving together in an ancient song of ice and fire.

Not that Krum had been left to suffer the indignity of being abandoned by his date, as the young man had no shortage of dance invitations from the young maidens of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, many of whom found his courage and the wounds he bravely carried after the incident with the Selma quite charming, as he was very much the classic dark, brooding hero.

Unsurprisingly, there had been none from Hogwarts, except for one from Miss Parkinson, who was less interested in him as a man than what he had experienced during the Second Task – which Krum supposed he should have found insulting, but actually had found to be something of a relief, even if it was just another affirmation of just how far a reporter would go to try and get an interview.

George, of course, meanwhile, after being rebuffed by Fleur – something he'd accepted in good humor – had gone on to dance with a few of the more eligible young ladies of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and none from Hogwarts, save for, once again, Pansy, though with him, the girl _was_ interested in him as a man. Or at least, as a wizard with a great deal of power.

But Shinji had simply stayed with Fleur, hearing of her adventures, her family, her thoughts on what she might do after she finished out this year, and telling her a bit about his past in turn, his arts, his status as an orphan, and his distant homeland, so different from this place.

"It's quite a bit warmer," he'd said conspiratorially, to which Fleur had laughed.

"Zat is not a 'ard claim to make, Monsieur Matou," she'd replied playfully. "Tell me somezing more surprising. Somezing zat would surprise even Rachelle!"

"Well…I might be leaving Britain next year," Shinji had offered, more seriously, to which the part-Veela had raised an eyebrow.

"Vy?"

"It's what happens when you're a foreigner in a country where you're no longer welcome," the boy had replied with a shrug, a sad smile crossing his lips. "So, I'll do my duty as Champion and then go from there, I suppose."

"Perhaps you could come to Beauxbatons," Fleur had offered. "You would be velcome, as a former Champion."

"Heh. Maybe," Shinji had said. "Thank you for the offer. How do you say…' _merci beaucoup_?'"

"Oui," Fleur had answered, smiling faintly.

The two had talked long into the night, as one by one, people began to leave the Great Hall, slipping away to their Banners, to corners of the castle, or perhaps the grounds outside, eventually finding themselves on one of the settees tucked into a corner, looking on as the last dance was held, with Andreas Tornquist, the tall sandy-haired youth who was Commander of the Banner of Ravens, escorting Sylvana Terum, the willowy white-haired beauty who commanded the Banner of Wolves, with the two seeming rather...close.

Most from Beauxbatons – and Hogwarts – were shocked by this, and a few even a little scandalized, not being familiar with the long and tangled history of the two, though some of those from Durmstrang, who had known both of them from their first years at the school, were hardly surprised, given the tension that had lain between them for quite some time.

After that though, Shinji didn't really remember much. He imagined, with some chagrin, that he must have dozed off, as the long evening of food, drink, and talk finally took its toll.

' _I hope Fleur made it back to her room. The Banner of Ravens isn't especially close, and she_ was _rather tired after all…'_

Feeling a little guilty, the boy resolved to check on his date soon, though he didn't really feel like getting up. After all, he felt rather content with how things had gone, on the whole, and was rather warm and comfortable. In fact, he could almost feel a gentle rhythmic motion, like a sigh, easing any hint of frustration of anxiety, giving him a sense of peace in these lands so far away from the hubbub of civilization.

' _Hm? A sigh?'_ he wondered idly, and as he paid more attention, he realized that the sound was someone breathing, and that underneath the blanket that had thrown over him (and when had _that_ happened?), he could see a head of pale blonde hair.

He started, the blanket falling away to reveal the still-sleeping form of Fleur Delacour, nestled against him in her somewhat disheveled formal dress. In the candlelight, the delicate vulnerability of the part-Veela's features was breathtaking, and with her in his arms, he felt that he didn't want to be anywhere else, that he was fine just where he was, by her side.

 _'Wait...what?'_

Shinji blinked. Somehow, that...seemed wrong. He didn't...but she was so beautiful, so warm, her lips so very kissable. Why, if he just leaned in, he could-

 _'What am I doing?'_ the boy asked himself, pausing in mid-motion, as he'd already begun leaning towards her, as if to steal a kiss. _'I don't...Fleur isn't...even if she's a Veela, a...'_

A Veela.

Shinji tensed, biting his lips as he quickly ran through the exercise of purging the emotional state of his public partition, loading a blank from his private partition instead, with the compulsion to hold Fleur, to kiss her and...more...fading as he did, much to his relief.

 _'What did I almost do? And why...?'_

But while the boy was pondering these questions, it was made obvious to him that he was not alone, with the slim form of Radu Eshkol Mann materializing from the air to appear in his view, alongside several black-cloaked figures.

"Champion Matou," the dark-eyed Commander of the Banner of Serpents greeted quietly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Serpent Lord," Shinji replied respectfully. "Yes. I'm well rested."

"I see," Radu noted, raising an eyebrow. "You are to be commended for resisting prolonged exposure to a Veela's aura. Not many can claim such resilience of mind, especially not when they first awaken."

Shinji felt a bit of chagrin at the older boy's compliment, given that he hadn't really resisted - had almost succumbed to it and done something in fact, something he couldn't take back. Despite himself, he felt his cheeks becoming hot...

"Were you...watching the entire time?" he asked, finally. He hadn't remembered seeing them around, after all, but if they'd been invisible…

"Indeed," the Serpent Lord confirmed with a nod. "I and the others who volunteered to handle event security." The older youth seemed friendly enough, though Shinji couldn't tell what Radu was thinking. "Truthfully, the Yule Ball ended hours ago, but we remained because you and your companion did, and it was our duty to keep you safe. Another Champion will not be...molested in this school on my watch." He chuckled then. "Not unless they desire it."

"That's...very commendable," Shinji replied after a few moments, trying to remain still, as Fleur hadn't yet woken up, and he didn't want to bother her, given that he knew she hadn't slept well in quite some time.

"It is our duty. There is no need to commend us for performing such," Radu reproached. "Be that as it may, Champion, may I inquire as to your plans, now that you are awake?"

"My...plans?" Shinji echoed.

"Indeed," Radu noted. "If you wish to return to sleep, I suppose that is your right. If you wish to remain here with your fellow Champion until she wakes, my Shadows can redeploy themselves to give you two some privacy. If you wish to wake her and escort her back to Raven's Keep, we will take our leave. And if you wish to return to the Keep first, we can certainly keep watch over her. The choice is yours."

For a short, traitorous moment, Shinji found himself tempted to just hug the part-Veela close and go back to sleep, but he thought otherwise.

"I'd…could you help me get up without…" he murmured, trailing off as he nodded at Fleur's sleeping form.

"Heh. Certainly," Radu replied, seeming faintly amused, waving his hand as the blanket that had slid to the floor floated into the air, slipping between Fleur and Shinji and slowly lifting her up just enough so that Shinji could slide out from under her. He did so, swinging his feet off the couch and down, with Radu taking the cue to lower the Veela once again, so her head rested on her companion's thighs.

"Thank you," Shinji said quietly. "Its…I'll stay with her until she wakes, if you want to head off. You probably haven't slept, have you?"

"Heh…you are quite considerate for someone from Hogwarts," the Serpent Lord noted. "Perhaps there is something to what the young ladies of Beauxbatons say about you."

Shinji blinked.

"…and just what do they say?" the boy asked, dreading whatever the answer might be.

"Why, that you are like a modern Lancelot, a gallant Knight who betrayed his country and his King for the sake of the woman he loved, and that like that Knight of old, you have eyes for no others but her," Radu answered, both of his eyebrows rising in surprise. "You did not notice how those maidens swooned as you refused them, giving your attention entirely to your lovely companion?"

Shinji froze.

"What."

"The legend of Lancelot comes from France, after all," the Commander of the Banner of Serpents added. "But yes, you have become something of a romantic figure to them. And perhaps even to Britain, though there, Lancelot is seen more as a traitor. We shall see what the newspapers say about you on the morrow."

"…newspapers?" Shinji squeaked, his mouth going dry.

"Yes, newspapers," Radu confirmed, gesturing as his fellows went invisible once more. "While you slept, two reporters took photographs of you. One from _La Vérité_ _,_ and one from your _Daily Prophet._ Surely you do not fear the press, Champion?"

"Only as much as they deserve," Shinji quipped _,_ though inside he was panicking, as he just knew this would portrayed in the worst light possible. "Only as much as they deserve."

With that, he closed his eyes and focused on his occlumency, thinking that now, more than ever, he needed to get his thoughts in order.

'… _and after going back to Hogwarts, I need to talk to Lockhart. Maybe after doing some potions work to calm down. I almost…I need to talk to Luna. I hope she…doesn't misunderstand, since however the_ Prophet _misrepresents it_ , _it isn't what it looks like…'_


	59. Waltz Away Dreaming

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 59.** _Waltz Away Dreaming_

When she arrived back at Durmstrang on the morning of the Yule Ball, Fleur Delacour had been astonished at how strange it felt to be among other people her age after nearly a month alone once the ice (with one notable interlude, though what had happened there…)

' _Non. Zat vas a moment of weakness, zat is all,'_ she told herself, even as flashes of that chance encounter bubble up in her mind.

Fevered touches and whispered words.

The scent and taste of another.

A languid smile in the afterglow.

' _Non. Ze Ball is tonight. I cannot be so…distracted.'_

Or let anyone know how out of sorts she felt, because that would make them think she was _weak_ , and as a Champion – one who had already been the target of rumors and assassination – that was the last thing she could afford.

So she'd put these things out of her mind, schooling her features into a polite mask as she nodded to those she passed, making her way to Raven's Keep and the hot springs it held, marveling all the while at how her schoolmates could complain about the temperature inside the walls of Durmstrang when it was quite pleasant compared to how things were _outside,_ or how they grumbled about being assigned to mess duty, cleaning duty, or other maintenance work for one day a week, when, during the Second Task, she would have killed (perhaps literally) for just a single other person to share in the hard work of simply _surviving_ in the frozen north.

' _Ve do not recognize how lucky we are, until we are not…'_

When she had first become Champion, she hadn't expected – hadn't been ready – for anything like the excursion she had just returned from, or the alienation and abuse she'd endured at the hands of students from Hogwarts and Durmstrang earlier in the year.

It had been truly terrifying to learn just how alone one could be even in a crowd, and how _grateful_ she could be for the presence of just one – or two – people who had stood by her, endured the abuse and speculation with her.

That Rachelle Lestrange, the Etoile Noire of Beauxbatons, would side with her, yes, given that they were both Champions of Beauxbatons, and how the terrifying young Alchemist had…dealt with similar situations, given how some spoke of her as a cold-hearted murderess, with no consideration for human mores, given how all of her rivals for the position of Potions Champion had mysteriously dropped dead – even Anton Duvais, the French Minister's only child.

The Etoile-presumptive, who many had respected, idolized, or allied themselves with, due to great web of influence he commanded, and how those who got in his way inevitably found themselves regretting it in ways that could not be traced back to him.

Until his encounter with Lestrange, which had not merely been decisive but…final in way Fleur was sure Duvais had not expected, with him, and the greatest of his allies, not just socially ruined but _dead_ when all was said and done.

So yes, she had expected Rachelle to be her ally in the face of such hostility, and as much as the ruthlessness of the petite young woman terrified her, had found her willingness to stand by her comforting. She had _not_ been expecting to find the Champions of Hogwarts – the very school responsible for nearly killing her – choosing to stand against their school and their people for _her._

… she'd suspected that they must have unwittingly been taken in by her allure, but that had turned out to be untrue.

Matou, after all, seemed to have a resistance to her aura – perhaps due to his deep attraction to Lestrange, which never failed to amuse her, given how hopeless his suit would be if he attempted to pursue the petite blonde.

And Weasley, she now realized, had been utterly unaffected.

' _I 'ave never met anyone who vas immune…whose attraction was not at least partially due to my allure…'_

Perhaps that was why she had…stumbled as she had, coupled with her loneliness and the raw sense of _need_ that his unexpected companionship had inspired.

' _I am not like…zis. I do not…I am not ze slattern some zay I am,'_ she told herself, telling herself that if her body had become heated at his touch, it was because of how cold it had been outside, and how much she had missed being around… _someone._

Anyone.

Not because she'd been taken in by his charms or affected in some deeper.

It didn't mean anything. It couldn't.

Not while she was a Champion, with a duty to uphold to herself and the school she represented.

Maybe when all this was behind them, when the Tournament was over and…

' _Non.'_

She ruthlessly quashed _that_ thought too. With Wizarding Britain having left the International Confederation of Warlocks, to pursue its mad policy of warmongering, there was no future in pursuing anything of that sort. Far less with someone who would likely be conscripted into the British Army, the existence of which was making many wizarding nations nervous, as they did not know who that army would be sent against, despite the loud noises Britain had made about Bulgaria.

But on the topic of the future…

' _Vat will I do, when zis year is over?'_

Whether or not she earned the prize of "Eternal Glory" in the Tri-Wizard Tournament (and the rather more tangible monetary reward that came with it), there was still the concern of what she would choose to do for the rest of her life.

The obvious route for someone like her, of course, was to become a model, or something similar, where her appearance and allure could be leveraged to give her the greatest advantage possible, but coasting through life because of her beauty wasn't what she wanted for herself.

Perhaps the foreign service, like her father before her?

A reporter, like her mother had once been?

There were so many possibilities to choose from once one left the hallowed halls of Beauxbatons, emerging out into the world with contacts and aspirations aplenty.

' _I envy Rachelle. 'er path is set.'_

After all, the young Alchemist would no doubt be headed to the Centre for Alchemical Studies after graduation, following in the footsteps of her esteemed ancestor, or failing that, into a research position with the Ministry, where her skills would no doubt be highly valued.

She herself had no such luxury.

Such were Fleur Delacour's musings as the part-Veela found her footsteps carrying her to the hot springs reserved for the use of the Champions, from which issued a peal of gentle laughter.

' _Zat is…Rachelle?'_

It sounded like her fellow Champion, but she'd never known the Etoile Noire to be so…carefree.

"Rachelle?" she asked, as she disrobed and set her clothing aside, before opened the door and padding naked into the bathing area.

"Yes?"

"Oui?"

Two voices spoke at once, with one indeed being that the sweet soprano of Rachelle Lestrange, her fellow Champion from Beauxbatons, though the other, a throaty contralto, belonged to Rachelle Sondrol, the Potions Champion and Field Marshal of Durmstrang, with Fleur noting with a more than a trace of envy that the redhead's nude figure was shapelier than her own.

"Ah, Fleur! You 'ave returned," Lestrange greeted, seeming a little more lighthearted than usual – or perhaps she was reading too much into things, after having been away for so long. "Joyeux Noël! Join us."

"Yes, please do," the Raven Lieutenant added quickly. "I'm sure you've missed having a proper soak after your time in the wilderness. I know I feel like that after any excursions I take."

"Mm," Fleur mumbled wordlessly, taking the invitation and slipping into the water, quietly reveling in the feel of its liquid warmth all around her. "Ahhhhh…"

"Enjoying yourself?" Sondrol's voice broke into her reverie, tinged with amusement.

"…oui."

"I thought you might be. Your fellow Champion went through much the same thing last week, after her own expedition."

Fleur blinked.

Ah, that was right.

The Etoile Noire _had_ gone off with the Hogwarts Potions Champion and their press representative, in a move that had scandalized quite a few of the students at the school, given their own tawdry assumptions.

But what…?

"Rachelle…" the part-Veela spoke after some moments of silence, thinking that mere speculation wouldn't get her anywhere. "Vat were you doing in ze wilderness?"

"Dealing with ze source of ze rumors about you, Fleur," the petite blonde replied from where she was reclining, her pale gold hair fanning out around her like a halo. "More zan that, I cannot say."

"Oh?" Fleur pressed, thinking there was no harm in probing more deeply.

"It iz better you do not know for now, Fleur," the Etoile Noire said gently, but firmly. "Ze matter iz…a sensitive one, and you are…fatigued."

"Mm…c'est vrai," the part-Veela admitted. "And ze day 'as only just begun."

"Yes, that's right," Rachelle Sondrol agreed, stepping out of the spring and stretching languidly, as drops of water trailed down her form. "The Yule Ball is tonight, after all." The statuesque redhead chuckled throatily. "I trust you have the relic shards assembled?"

"Yes," Fleur replied.

"Glad to hear it," Sondrol noted, as she padded to the door. "I will see you both there, then. For now, I must ensure that the Council's final preparations are nearly complete."

With that, the Field Marshal of Durmstrang vanished, leaving the two girls from Beauxbatons alone.

For a short time, there was silence, before Fleur remembered something.

"Ah…zat is right, ze Ball!" Fleur exclaimed, her eyes widening. "Merde alors!"

"It vill be alright, Fleur," the soft voice of Rachelle Lestrange said reassuringly.

"But…who am I going with? Will vat I wear match? W—"

"You will be going with le Matou," the petite blonde replied with a hint of mischief. "And 'e 'as generously supplied all of us with dress robes."

"…all of us?" Fleur echoed, blinking. "You mean, ze conversation you 'ad with him about matching outfits…"

Rachelle Lestrange laughed quiet, a delicate sound like tinkling bells that her fellow Champion found it difficult to reconcile with her image of the Etoile Noire as a ruthless killer.

"Oui. It vas to provide outfits for each and every Champion," the other explained. "I received them zis morning, and they are lovely, Fleur."

"Oh? What fashion house…?"

"…LeShin," the petite blonde answered meaningfully.

"Le Shi…" Fleur repeated, but trailed off. "Mais non! Champion Matou est _un couturier?!"_

"So it seems, Fleur. 'e 'as many talents, c'est vrai," Lestrange noted with a very gallic shrug.

"Mm, 'o will you be going with, Rachelle?" the part-Veela inquired. "Viktor Krum? Ou… G-george Veasley?" She cursed silently to herself as she nearly stumbled over the boy's name. Just because being in these hot springs reminded her of him didn't mean anything. It was just that the last time she'd had a good soak, he'd been there. That was all.

"Krum," her colleague answered. "It is Sondrol who vill be going vith Weasley." Fleur nodded, but looked over sharply as Lestrange began to speak once more. "A curious boy, zat one. Do you know 'im well, Fleur?"

Fleur blushed, letting herself sink deeper into the water in an attempt to hide her face.

"N-non, not well," she lied. She had known him in the most intimate way a woman could know a man, after all. "V-vy, Rachelle?"

"Nothing at all," her companion remarked lightly, her tone unreadable. "…just that I believe 'e was the one zat saved you, Fleur, zat 'alloween night. And that, like you, 'e is not quite 'uman."

With that pair of verbal bombshells, the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons took her leave, with Fleur left wondering how Rachelle could possibly know any of this – and what it all meant if it was true?

* * *

Attending the Yule Ball that night had been more difficult than she'd thought it would be, given the sights, the sounds, the smells – the presence of all the _people_. It was, in a word, overwhelming, after so long without dealing with anyone at all, even someone who had once been quite used to such affairs as the Etoile of Beauxbatons.

' _Or zat was who I vas…but now?'_

Now what had been familiar had become alien, and the alien familiar, though she at least had some experience navigating the subtle expectations of events she was not entirely comfortable with, and the responsibilities of the Champions had been quite firmly laid out.

First, the Champions, in the order in which they had returned to the castle, would present the evidence that they had completed the Second Task – or the lack of such evidence – for the assembled judges, who would assess whether or not they had done so satisfactorily by the simple expedient of seeing if their assembled artifacts could be activated.

Thankfully, hers functioned as well as those of her competitors, and all could proceed to the final phase of the Tournament, for which would be expected to find a partner – and in which the artifacts they had assembled would play a vital part.

This just left her wanting more details, but that, Headmaster Karkaroff stated, was a worry for another night, with the man proceeding to ask the Champions to open the night's revels with the traditional Champions Waltz.

Under normal circumstances, Matou Shinji, a young boy who was in many respects a poor match for her, would not have been her first choice as a companion for the evening.

Not her second either, or her third.

But then, this Ball – this whole year – was a strange one, and she in the midst of the chaos she was forced to deal with, she found the safety he represented quite refreshing. He'd sworn to be her bodyguard and to protect her from all enemies, after all, whatever form they took, without any ulterior motive.

Well, except perhaps the approval of Rachelle Lestrange, but that was hardly relevant.

After all, as neither of them were interested in the other, they could be far more relaxed – far more _themselves_ than if they were putting on an appearance to try and impress someone else.

' _I wonder if Viktor 'as similar thoughts about 'is companion…'_

She didn't think so, though. For one, he wouldn't be disoriented from a first exposure to the hostile environment of Svalbard, having effectively lived there for most of the last seven years of his life. And for another…

' _Rachelle didn't exactly stay with him after ze first dance!'_

What a scandal it was, that the Etoile Noire had chosen to spend the evening with the Field Marshal of Durmstrang instead! Viktor, certainly, had seemed surprised when his date abandoned him for someone else – much less another woman, the expression of naked shock on his face revealing that he'd never experienced - and never expected – such a thing.

George Weasley, however, seemed a much better sport about his own companion's departure, even managing a crooked smile as saw the two Potions Champions together – and then, glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and _winked,_ as if he'd noticed her watching him.

The part-Veela had colored deeply and turned away, telling young Matou that she needed to sit down, and he, every bit the gentleman, had led her to a table and offered to get her a drink.

' _Weasley…'_

After…what had happened in the wilderness between them, it was been…strange, seeing him again, especially when she was wearing a new set of dress robes that were tailored perfectly for her and drew the attention of so many – and _he_ was in formalwear that, coupled with his fiery hair, made him look like a child of the sun.

While Matou was away getting her a drink, the Tri-Wizard Champion of Hogwarts had come over to her, asking if she would like to dance, _that…that smile_ playing over his lips.

"No, I…my feet. Zey hurt," she told him, making her excuses.

She didn't want to give him the wrong idea, after all, to let him believe that their encounter had been anything more than a moment of weakness. Yet, even so, there was a strange pang in her chest when he simply accepted her rejection and returned to the dance floor, where he had no shortage of dance partners.

Seeing him with those other girls, holding them close in his warm arms as they moved toge—

The part-Veela shook her head, clearing it of troublesome thoughts she wanted no part of.

' _Zit must be ze disorientation. Ze combination of everyzing at once….'_ She told herself. The ache then, meant nothing, just a strained muscle perhaps, from moving in a way she hadn't in a while, or from her body simply being too tired after weeks in the cold. ' _It means nothing.'_

Yes. That was undoubtedly the most reasonable explanation, as she had only managed to make her way back to Durmstrang the morning of the Ball, the last of all the Champions to return. And undoubtedly, she was the least experienced at the vagaries of survival, so it was inevitable, with the stresses and shocks of the sudden transition back to somewhere relatively more civilized, that the many aches and pains she'd ignored in the wilderness would come rushing back with a vengeance, now that danger was no longer nigh.

But then Matou returned with a drink and said something droll, something that made her laugh, distracting her from her troubles. He accompanied her throughout the evening, in fact, turning down invitations from other girls closer to his age – admirers of his from Beauxbatons, she thought – for a dance, a walk, or a talk somewhere more private.

And when she asked him if he wouldn't rather be spending the evening with someone else, he replied, "No. I could ask no more from the evening than the pleasure of your company."

It was a lie, of course, if a gallant one.

Having gone to Beauxbatons and being familiar with how it did things, Fleur Delacour knew how to spot a liar, and so she knew that in that moment, Matou Shinji was one.

' _Mm, 'e would rather be with ze Etoile Noire…'_

Which he proved by glancing over at the petite blonde with a wistful expression, every once in a while, when he thought Fleur might be distracted. Still, the part-Veela appreciated the lie for the kindness it represented.

She didn't expect him to be so…nice to her, especially when she wasn't what or who he wanted, but then _le Matou_ was rather unusual, even among those of Hogwarts. Even if he wouldn't be _"of Hogwarts"_ for too much longer, it seemed.

"Be my partner," she offered impulsively, once the boy who had done so much for her explained his circumstances. "For ze final task."

Evidently, this caught the boy by surprise, given the dumbfounded expression on his face—

"W-wha?"

—and his somewhat less than coherent response.

"Why me?" Shinji asked, once he had recovered from his utter shock. "I mean, you don't even know what the final task will be, do you?"

"Non," Fleur admitted. "But I 'ave fought by your side before. And I know I can trust you."

"Yes, but why not…?" He glanced over at where the two Rachelles were dancing.

"Rachelle…is talented," the part-Veela conceded. "Zit is true. Mais…'er future is secure. Yours is not, Matou."

"…this is for my sake then?" Shinji questioned.

"Oui," the blonde noted with a simple smile. "So zat if you choose to come to Beauxbatons, you vill 'ave an advantage dealing vith ze social hierarchy. You would be a former Champion, yes, but you would also be a Champion's companion and friend." She paused for a moment, taking a breath. "You 'ave 'elped me without my asking it of you. Let me 'elp you, mon ami."

For some long moments, Shinji was quiet, as it was indeed quite the offer – even if taking it would probably seal his fate with Britain.

"I'll have think about it," the boy from the east said eventually. "I can't agree right away, without knowing what's expected of me, since I have a competition of my own to do, remember? After all, it would hardly be gentlemanly if I were to make you a promise, if I couldn't keep it."

"You are kind, Matou. Enough so zat I think you are too much so," Fleur noted, her expression thoughtful. Someone as thoughtful and earnest as he was might have…difficulties at Beauxbatons, given that things tended to be much more…convoluted there, with most having hidden agendas and ulterior motives.

Where everything was much, much murkier, unless one happened to be Rachelle Lestrange.

For her, the usual rules didn't apply, and very few would dare to try to impose them on her. She terrified them, after all, mostly because those who hadn't known to be afraid and crossed her weren't exactly around anymore.

Matou Shinji wasn't that terrifying, really. He was a knight, not a grim reaper – at least as far as she knew. She supposed it was possible he was completely different when he was away from Durmstrang, with a reputation at his home institution much like that of the Etoile Noire, but she didn't think so.

"Thank you," he said, nodding. "But as I said, I need to think about it."

"As long as you do," she replied reasonably.

She couldn't really ask for more, since it _was_ his choice in the end. She was just surprised to know that Britain would even _think_ about banishing someone they'd chosen as a Champion, given the weight such a position held.

They whiled away the hours, not entirely remarkably, talking about safer topics, sharing stories of their homelands and aspirations, with the boy mentioning that one of the Potions Champions was also a model, so perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing to go into.

"You are quite lovely enough for it," Shinji praised, as Fleur smiled ever so slightly. "And well, I _do_ run a Fashion House, it is true."

"Yes, and merci beaucoup for ze dress, but…I vish to be appreciated for more zan my beauty," the part-Veela replied, fiercely. "I am of Veela blood, but I am more zan just zat!"

"…I know a thing or two about wanting to be appreciated for more than…one talent," Shinji said, his tone pensive, his expression seeming a world away. "For wanting to become someone on your own terms."

"Oh?"

But the boy just shook his head.

"Just…some stuff that happened years ago," he answered, though there was a note in his voice that hinted that he wasn't telling the whole truth. "Its…it's not important. Not really." He took a deep, shuddering breath as he reached up and rubbed his shoulder – the one where she knew a strange design had been engraved. "Not anymore."

"I see," she noted, not wanting to press.

They moved around the room a bit after that, taking refreshments, looking in surprise at the decorations that had been made, and enjoying the musical selections that were being put on.

"Surprising that the students of Durmstrang did all this, without too much magic," Shinji remarked. "The people of this school impress me, quite a bit."

"Zey impress me as well," Fleur admitted. Especially after her excursion. How someone could live like this for years. "Zey are spirited. Comrades."

"A good word for it, but I guess you'd have to be to survive up here, in this place of old night," the boy from the east said thoughtfully. "To be willing to put aside grudges and do your part. There's a lesson here I wish Britain would learn."

He sighed, glancing at where most of the Hogwarts contingent was huddled, avoiding the students of the other two schools.

"Some know the lesson well, but some…"

"Zit is difficult, when you 'ave no experience," Fleur commented. "But zere is a first time for everything."

"True enough."

And so things went, with the hours passing until the Ball finally started winding down, with the two of them sitting on one of the settees in the corner, while two of three Commanders of the Host – as well as the Field Marshal and her date – took the floor for a final dance to piano and starlight, moving in time to a melody Fleur had heard before.

Satie's "Je te Veux," a slow, sentimental waltz which had been popular perhaps a century ago, and whose lyrics were perhaps somewhat provocative, if she recalled correctly. It was one of her mother's favorites, one that she would hum as she danced with her father – as Fleur was humming now, watching the couples on the dance floor looking into each other's eyes.

And then she noticed someone else, someone beyond them, standing at the door to the Great Hall and looking back - at _her._

'… _Weasley…'_

He caught her gaze and held it as the musicians played on, gold looking into blue.

And despite herself, despite everything she had told herself, she didn't – couldn't – look away, nor could she stop humming, or thinking of the lyrics.

How long that moment lasted, she couldn't have said, but however long it was, it was as if they were the only two people in the world.

When it ended, as it inevitably did, with the final verse of the song, the boy mouthed to her "good night" and with a small, secretive smile, walked through the doors and out of the room.

With his departure, the exhaustion she'd been fending off caught up with her, as it apparently had to Matou, who'd fallen asleep some time while she wasn't…entirely aware of everything else. How long ago she wasn't sure. She hadn't been paying attention to him after all.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. And then another, and then another, smiling faintly as she thought to herself that it hadn't been a _bad_ evening.

Just a tiring one.

And she thought, maybe she'd just close her eyes for a moment before taking her leave.

* * *

When she opened them next, she found her head reading on Matou's thighs, hours later, with the hall seemingly deserted. The sounds of bustling and conversation had gone away, with only the young Champion's voice filling the air with words in a language she did not recognize. Japanese, she thought it must be, given the land of his birth, though she had no idea what " _…Tsutau minasuji, Sono te ga hiraku asu wa"_ could possibly mean.

Soon enough though, the singing trailed off, with the boy glancing down at her with a wan smile as he noticed she was awake.

"Good morning Fleur," he murmured, though his smile didn't quite meet his eyes. To her, he seemed kind enough, but weary, as if he'd aged years overnight.

"Bonjour, Matou," she replied softly. "Zat song…is zat popular in your country?"

Matou Shinji merely sighed and looked away.

"I don't know," the boy admitted, with a rueful chuckle. "I've never heard anyone else sing it…I don't even know if it's a proper song. Or just something I heard somewhere."

"Oh? But you remember it, still?"

"Yeah. It's something I sing sometimes, I guess, when I'm lost in thoughts, all alone…"

* * *

As Radu Eshkol Mann, the Commander of the Banner of Serpents, stepped into the rather austere office of Headmaster Karkaroff, he reflected that while duty was a harsh mistress, at least when things like documentation and logistics were kept in mind, it had its share of rewards as well.

Knowing that others were able to enjoy an evening due to the efforts of he and his chosen few.

Seeing his colleagues finally – finally – admit that perhaps they felt _something_ for each other, after years of dancing around the topic (with a rivalry that had become all the more powerful for it).

Seeing the flabbergasted faces of villains about to work their mischief, for example, only to be caught _in flagrante delicto._

Or in particular case, seeing a Champion try to keep his obvious panic from showing on his face, after learning what his fangirls had been saying about him, and that reporters had taken pictures of him and his companion.

' _Though Miss Parkinson, the_ Daily Prophet _reporter, was kind enough to bring him and his companion a blanket, so I wonder what he fears.'_

Perhaps the fact that if photographed from a certain angle, with Delacour's dress having slipped a bit, it almost seemed as if the attractive part-Veela was wearing nothing under the blanket.

' _Ah, what banner was she again? Raven, that's right…she seems like someone Andreas would get along with.'_

He cleared his throat as he materialized and approached the desk, with the long, drawn face of the Headmaster looking up at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes, Commander?"

"My report, sir," Radu intoned, withdrawing a scroll from his robes and handing it to the man.

"Excellent, Commander," Karkaroff said stiffly. "A summary, if you would?"

"Yes, sir. The most notable events of the past evening were two attempts to poison the drinks, several cases of drunk and disorderly conduct from the Hogwarts delegation, and one attempted assassination."

"…an assassination, Commander?" Karkaroff echoed, scowling as he rolled opened the scroll and scanned it. "…and against one of their own, no less. I would be surprised at the depths some are willing to descend to on what should have been a night of peace and celebration, save that I stopped being able to be surprised years ago."

"A joke, sir?"

"I do not joke, Commander," the Headmaster noted grimly, a hand twitching towards his left arm for a moment. "Not about matters related to that...bit of unpleasantness."

"Apologies, Headmaster."

"None necessary, Commander." Karkaroff said, waving away his attempts to apologize. "Not after you and yours protected two Champions from an assassination attempt. Might I inquire as to the perpetrator's choice of technique?"

"The Killing Curse," the Serpent Lord growled. "Though he did not manage to get it off before he was incapacitated."

"Yet you do not have him in custody?"

"Given the severity of what he was about to do, I could not risk letting the terrorist complete his spell. Sadly, the Stunning Spell, is rather fatal if enough hit someone at once," Radu explained, without a trace of regret. "Twenty at once essentially guaranteed he would not be getting up again. Ever."

"Well. Enough wands to stop a dragon certainly would stop a single wizard, yes. Even if he was wearing dragonhide."

"My thought exactly, sir."

"You…did not inform Miss Delacour and Mister Matou of their close encounter?" Karkaroff inquired. "That is rather unusual of you."

"I thought Mister Matou seemed rather distressed enough when I mentioned the press," Radu noted, allowing a hint of amusement to show. "He did not seem to be in any state to process more…serious news."

"I see. And what did you have in mind for the official explanation for the death?" the Headmaster asked. "I don't think the British would enjoy knowing we ended the lives of one of their students."

"He became inebriated and wandered out into the cold, where he stumbled and eventually, froze to death," the Serpent Lord replied. "It is as plausible an explanation as any, given how much drink some consumed last night."

"Reasonable enough, Commander. Make it so."

Radu started to go, but paused, as something came to mind.

"Britain will no doubt want an explanation as to how he could have escaped our oversight, sir," he commented wryly. "They may also desire some compensation for the wrongful death of one of their own due to our...lapse."

"Well that's too bad for them, isn't it?" Karkaroff asked quietly, as he turned to look out the window. "After all, we don't negotiate with terrorists."


	60. Potions and Petitions

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 60.** _Potions and Petitions_

Under most circumstances, working on Potions in the Room of Requirement – much like working on _ofuda –_ was rather calming for Matou Shinji, a way of bleeding off excess frustration through sublimation, watching as his efforts created something that was greater than the sum of its parts. Granted, he was usually alone during these exercises, which wasn't the case today, but rather than being a distraction – as could all too easily be the case at times – the presence and closeness of Luna Lovegood was helping him to focus, with his lover using her yang prana to soothe away his tenseness and aches, calm his frazzled nerves and otherwise remove the distractions of fatigue, annoyance or fear.

Basic potions tended to be hard to completely foul up, but with some of the advanced ones – especially ones in which he was experimenting with a given recipe to try and increase the potency of the result or decrease the brewing time needed, a tremor at the wrong time, a slip of the finger, a misplaced ingredient could all be quite fatal.

Many students did not realize this, or understand the need to watch their cauldrons, instead of talking with a partner or playing around – and so would never become more than passable brewers in the eyes of a true potioneer. For someone who had dedicated his life to the study of potions, that distractions could be deadly should be a fact they were intimately familiar with.

…which was why Matou Shinji half suspected that Zygmunt Budge, the spirit bound within the _Book of Potions,_ wanted him dead.

"…serviceable, perhaps, but hardly exceptional," a voice called out, as the smoky silhouette of the long-dead potioneer sneered at the cauldron of Draught of Peace that the boy was brewing for himself. "But I suppose that is what I expect from a Champion of _Hogwarts_ , especially one who would rather take lessons from that lump of lard who calls himself a potions master than study at the feet of the greatest potion-maker ever born!"

"Is there something wrong with Hogwarts?" Luna asked, her silvery eyes turning to look upon the disgruntled shade as she sought to draw his attention away from Shinji – who was trying not to have a concoction blow up in his face.

Again.

"Only the over-inflated egos of its Headmasters and Potions Masters, who through the ages have sought to stifle the brilliance of young potioneers!" the silhouette groused. "With the exception of Severus Snape, who I find passable" – which was, by his exacting standards, very high praise indeed – "the rest are mere….mere…amateurs. Calling themselves _masters_ because they can follow a recipe, the nerve of them! And their students, slavishly following in their footsteps, even worse. Why, at the tender age of fourteen, _I_ was able to correct the halfwit they hired on the proper use of Mackled Malaclaw tails, among other ingredients…"

And yet _he_ had been denied a spot in the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship, because his headmaster couldn't countenance someone so young participating, while this…this…child whose brewing was barely acceptable even by _Hogwarts_ standards had simply been _handed_ the position.

"He's trying his best…" Luna said, trying to pacify the shade, but the spirit of Zygmunt Budge would have none of it.

"Trying his best?" the voice of the ghostly potioneer echoed incredulously, the green mist issuing from the _Book of Potions_ growing in volume. "Trying his best, you say?" Budge all but spat. "Perhaps he was – in the summer – but the last time he opened this book in all of the last month was to store a tray of leftovers. Leftovers, the nerve of it!"

Matou Shinji, who had just finished putting the finishing touches on the Draught of Peace he had been brewing for himself, felt compelled to reply.

"With all due respect, I had more important things to do," the boy said quietly, but firmly, frowning as he looked at the silhouette of the long-dead master potioneer. "Duties that I could not put aside."

Duties such as protecting Fleur from whatever malcontents might try to target her, or dealing with the _tanuki_ , who had been raising havoc at Durmstrang. And as much as he trusted Rachelle Lestrange, he hadn't been at all sure he wanted to leave the _Book of Potions_ within her reach, given the great temptation the living tome would have posed to any Potions Champion aware of its abilities.

"Had to do?" the spirit scoffed. "Hardly. You _chose_ to do them, _ignoring_ the responsibilities and duties that you had been entrusted with as a Potions Champion! Wasting your time on things that were _not your concern_ , instead of honing your craft and try to live up to the role you were handed."

Shinji put down his tools slowly, his every motion an exercise in control, as he struggled not to snap at the shade, or to throw something at him, neither of which would go over well, he suspected.

"As a Champion, it is my _responsibility_ to represent Britain," Shinji commented softly. "And to stand up to what I see as injustice, even if – no, especially when – it is committed by others from Britain. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was established to aid with international cooperation. If those tossers from Hufflepuff had succeeded at assassinating two of the other Champions—"

"It would have been none of _your_ concern," Budge cut in, his silhouette looming ever larger in the mist. "Your _responsibility_ , as you put it, is to represent Britain in the _Wizarding School Potions Championship_ and not be a complete embarrassment, not to make a spectacle of yourself as if you wanted to become head of the Wizards' Council! I doubt any of your fellow _Champions_ feel compelled to do as you have done."

…an accusation that struck quite close to home, as Zygmunt Budge wasn't actually wrong.

"Sokaris would have…" Shinji began heatedly.

"Sialim Sokaris was an exceptionally talented potioneer, even at her age," the voice of Zygmunt Budge interrupted. "She would have easily become Champion, and might even have surpassed me as the greatest potioneer in the world! With her skill, of course she has the privilege of choosing what else she will work on or care about. You, on your best day, and her very worst, could never even begin to match up to her, or hope to be worthy of her memory!"

Matou Shinji _lurched_ , physically staggering as the shade's hateful words tore through him.

"Struck a nerve, did I?" Budge pressed, his voice almost vicious now. "Feeling a bit upset? _Good._ "

'… _good?'_

"Do you know what it like to spend over four hundred years, trapped in this book, ignored by the ungrateful wretches at Hogwarts in favor of books by absolute _nobodies?_ Left in the _Restricted Section_ , forgotten, squeezed in between other tomes to tightly I could not even _open myself_ until an unusual first year with an appreciation for the most mysterious and misunderstood branch of magic plucked me from the shelf?" the ghostly potioneer _thundered._

"I…" But Matou Shinji trailed off, not knowing what there was to say in the face of Budge's tirade.

"In life, that idiot of a Potions Master and his even more idiotic Headmaster cheated me of what was rightfully mine. In death, I gave them everything – the secrets of my art, distilled for new generations – an enchanted tome, to lift students to new heights – and still they cheated me, refusing to read what I had sent, or credit me for what _I_ invented. Letting all that I discovered go to waste because they could not stand that I had gone further than any of them in the pursuit of knowledge."

The master potioneer fell silent after that, with Matou Shinji's head left spinning by this revelation. The spirit had never mentioned _this_ before, or…

"I thought that after I had been discovered by such a promising potioneer, that things would be different," Budge said, his voice far more subdued, almost…despairing. "That maybe in this generation, someone would appreciate me. That maybe after four hundred years, a potioneer might finally use the secrets within this tome to secure themselves victory at the Championship. But…"

"But?" Luna asked quietly.

"But the best candidate I knew died, leaving me in the hands of a distraught little girl who was utterly mad about the boy in this room. She had _some_ skill, but was obsessed with following the instructions others had written down – and allowed herself to become too easily distracted. I told her to brew a love potion and be done with it, as opposed to wasting her time pining over what otherwise would never be hers, but she didn't listen."

Shinji stiffened, not having known _that_ part of the story. Hermione…had been offered the chance to brew a love potion and _refused_?

"I was co-opted by Severus Snape after that, and we came to an understanding – that I would be given to the Potions Champion of Hogwarts, pairing my genius with…the fact that whoever was chosen as Champion would have a body and something that resembled a functioning brain. And when the dust settled and the Champion was chosen, I was tasked with working with _you_."

The boy from the east swallowed.

"At first, I thought you were another prodigy like myself, since you were only fourteen when you were made Champion, though after we began working together, I found that I was mistaken. That you, if slightly better than the average student your age, were not the genius I had hoped you would be. Still, as you seemed hard-working enough, I was willing to swallow my pride and make do with what I had been given."

"I…"

"And then _you_ , like all the other ingrates I have known, _shelved_ me," Budge growled – all but spat, really. "Put me aside. Dismissed what I had to offer, all I had to teach, in favor of so-called _more important things_ that occupied your time." The silhouette shook his head sadly. "Your brewing is little better than it was this summer, really, and with very little time to improve before the Potions Championship, I fear to think how you'll measure up when the time comes. I thought once that you would do, but after hundreds of years I am _not_ willing to partner with someone who is an embarrassment of the title of Champion."

Shinji cringed, folding in on himself under the verbal onslaught of the master potioneer.

"Please…" he whispered. Without the book – without the knowledge it possessed, he knew he stood no chance among his fellow competitors, given that he was the youngest and least prepared. The least trained. "I…give me another chance. I don't…"

"You don't deserve one," the spirit of the book stated bluntly. "Not after you've squandered the chance you were given. It's as if you don't want to win the Potions Championship, as if your reason for participating is something else entirely!"

Shinji couldn't keep his naked shock from showing on his features, as the air grew heavy and cold. It was true that Sokaris hadn't asked him to win, just to do his best – and to investigate the ruins on the Isle, which she considered more important, but how—

"…it is, isn't it?" the spirit of the master potioneer realized, sounding utterly betrayed. "All this time, I had hoped to accompany a great potioneer to victory, but you were never even seeking to win to begin with!"

"I…"

" _You_ will be quiet and listen to what I have to say," Zygmunt Budge rumbled, as Shinji could only nod. "You will either improve _drastically_ by the time the Potions Championship begins, something I will assess for myself when you go to the isle, or you will give me to a deserving Champion, like Sajyou Ayaka of _Mahoutokoro_ , so I can fulfill my lifelong ambition _._ Is that understood, _Champion?_ "

"Yes…" Shinji squeaked. "I understand."

"Good," came the reply, as the mist began receding back into the _Book of Potions._ "I do look forward to working with Miss Sajyou again," came the potioneer's parting comment. "It will be quite a pleasant change to work with someone who appreciates what I have to offer, and who isn't...what was the term Severus used? Oh yes, a dunderhead."

* * *

Later that day, after _taking_ a sample from the Draught of Peace he'd brewed (which he'd needed, even with Luna's help, given the emotional trauma Zygmunt Budge had put him through), Shinji found himself at the door to Gilderoy Lockhart's office, with a gift for the man in his right hand, and Luna's hand in his left, mostly for reassurance.

Not for the first time, it stuck him how lucky he was that his girlfriend was a skeptic of the _Daily Prophet_ veracity. That she had been for years, really, even before the current madness, given that her father was both editor and publisher of the Quibbler.

' _Or really, I'm thankful that she trusts me…'_

Perhaps more than was reasonable, if he was being honest to himself, but the fact that she did – and supported him, no matter what others said, was something he deeply appreciated, especially when it seemed that all of Britain had turned against him.

' _I only did what was right!'_

Or so he told himself and everyone who would listen, though he found that most were less than receptive, especially confronted with what seemed like _photographic evidence_ of his misdeeds.

' _Pansy…why?'_

When he'd seen the headline – and the name under the photo credit – Shinji hadn't understood. He'd _helped_ Pansy. Let her obtain a familiar who was versatile and powerful, so why had she betrayed him so?

Why was everyone…?

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as calming yang prana flowed into him, and knocked on Lockhart's door, knowing he wouldn't find any answers from just standing in the hallway and doing nothing.

(The last thing he needed was to be caught lurking in a hallway outside a professor's office, especially the one who was known to be Pansy's mentor, as someone might think he had something nefarious in mind.)

"Enter," the man called from within. "I was wondering when you would stop by, Mister Matou. I trust you had a good evening, or so the daily paper tells me?"

As Shinji and Luna filed into the room, the first thing they noticed was while the room was decorated rather more festively than the last time he'd seen it, the man was dressed as plainly as he usually was when he wasn't teaching, this time in simple black robes which lacked any hint of decoration at all.

The second thing, of course, was the Boxing Day edition of the _Daily Prophet_ on the man's desk, where he sat, writing notes as he referenced what looked like a map of Wizarding London with certain points marked on it.

"Mister Matou. Miss Lovegood," the man greeted as he finished and put his notes aside. "It is good to see you both again." He gestured at the two chairs in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat. I suppose I know why _you_ are here, Mister Matou."

"First off, sir," Shinji began haltingly, wanting to get this part out of the way. "I'd like to say that what was in today's paper…"

"No need," Lockhart said, waving away his explanation. "I know perfectly well that the _Prophet's_ journalistic integrityhas been…less than reliable…as of late. And given that the lovely Miss Lovegood has not seen fit to separate herself from you over these accusations, I can surmise that the allegation in the paper are either false, or she is remarkably forgiving."

The Assassin smiled thinly.

"Or both, I suppose," he said after a moment's consideration. "That's always an option as well."

"Well, Luna is more forgiving than I deserve, its true," Shinji acknowledged, with a nod. "I'm lucky to have her in my life."

"That you are," Lockhart noted, opening one of his desk drawers and removing two pouches, one of which he slid over to Shinji, and one to Luna.

"What are…"

"Presents," the man explained. "For the aid that you have given my apprentice over the last year. Open them, if you will."

Inside his pouch, Shinji found five vials of what looked like thick, dark mud, bubbling away slowly.

"Is this…?"

"For you, Mister Matou, five doses of almost finished Polyjuice Potion, lacking only the essence of the person – or people – you seek to transform into," Lockhart confirmed. "These have been brewed to the most exacting standards, and may last up to twelve hours."

"…very generous of you, sir," Shinji murmured. He could well imagine how such a potion could be quite useful to him during the competition, or in other situations.

"My apprentice briefed me on what actually happened during that excursion," Lockhart noted diffidently. "Given what you helped her to obtain, it was only appropriate that you receive something worthy of it."

Luna, for her part, found a silvery-gold pendant in hers on a delicate chain, resembling the head of a dragon as seen from above, with a pale blue stone set into the center. To her senses, it felt almost _alive_ and so she glanced at the Assassin questioningly.

"Not goblin silver, actually. The work of a Master Alchemist, which I purchased some time ago during my travels," the man noted with a trace of a smile. "In its most basic form, Miss Lovegood, it is an amulet of protection, improving one's willpower and offering a defense against most mental attacks or effects."

"Even the effects of dementors?"

"Even those," Lockhart confirmed. "Of course, it also serves a secondary function, provided you have the magical energy for it?"

"Oh?"

Shinji looked over, curious as to what the amulet might be.

"I've been told that it becomes a weapon – a spear that doubles as a particularly potent focus of the water element," the History professor explained. "I have never seen this, of course, but perhaps it is true. I have seen stranger things in my time, after all."

"Told by who?" Shinji asked, unable to help himself.

"The woman who sold it to me," Lockhart said after a moment, his lips quirking into a faint half-smile. "Or rather, traded it to me for a few bottles of Shiraz wine, some of the finest, and rarest in the world."

"Shiraz wine?" Shinji echoed, blinking. "I've never heard of Shiraz before."

"Shiraz is a city in what is now Iran, and was once known as the city of poets, literature, wine and flowers," the man noted. "Since the revolution some time ago, it no longer officially produces wine, but for those who know, there are certain villages…"

"Ah…I wasn't aware that Iran produced wine at all."

The boy from the East knew about France and Italy as producers of wines, but Iran…?

"You should study your history, Mister Matou," the Assassin said reprovingly. "Iranian wine – or I suppose Persian wine, as it was known then – was the finest in the world. Indeed, at one point, there was said to be a vintage so powerful that it could bring hope to the despondent and new life to those mortally wounded."

"Oh?"

"In an old legend, wine was discovered by a girl despondent over her rejection by the king, who chose to commit suicide by drinking the spoiled residue of rotting grapes, thinking it would poison her," the history Professor related. "Instead of killing her, however, it merely intoxicated her, with the girl waking up the next morning with the realization that life was worth living and reporting this discovery to the king."

"And then what happened?"

The man smiled thinly.

"The king rewarded her, of course," came the reply. "Not only by accepting her once more into his harem, but by decreeing that all grapes in the land be devoted to wine-making. But yes, it once fetched quite a price, and so it did again."

"Do people really trade wine for magical items?" Shinji questioned, his eyebrows furrowing together. "The wine you provided wasn't…enchanted, was it?"

"No, but it was exceedingly rare, and she had little use for an amulet of protection, even though she found it on the floor of the Mediterranean Sea," Lockhart noted. "Besides, if a lovely woman wishes me to provide her with wine for a trinket, who am I to say no?" Then, he turned back to the petite blonde sitting beside Shinji. "Now, while I understand that you are proficient enough without a wand, Miss Lovegood, it is never a bad thing to have something at hand that an enemy will not expect."

"Mm…a good point," Luna acknowledged, nodding her head. "Thank you."

"No need. It's the least I can do after you've spent so much time helping to train my apprentice," Lockhart said mildly. "Shall we move onto business then, unless there is something else you wish to discuss first?"

"Well, I did want to give you something, Professor," Shinji broke in, handing a small parcel over to the man, with Lockhart opening it to reveal a small basket full of bezoars.

The Assassin looked over at the boy, a questioning eyebrow arching as he considered the gift.

"…I'm only _permitted_ to go between Hogwarts and Durmstrang," Shinji protested, even though the older man had said nothing. "So, I thought as an adventurer, you would like something practical."

A soft chuckle escaped the History Professor's lips, as he gently pressed the basket back into the boy's hands.

"Keep it," the man said. "I dare say you will find yourself needing more than I, given your tendency to make quite a few people…unhappy."

Shinji shivered not quite imperceptibly as he remembered the angry mutters and looks following him after his return from the Yule Ball, the accusations of treason and espionage that had been hurled at him in the _Prophet_ , and what Harry had said about the Wizengamot being rather...displeased with his actions.

"…hopefully not including you, sir?" the boy questioned, swallowing as he hoped he hadn't inadvertently caused the…Assassin any inconvenience.

The long pause that followed was _not_ in any way reassuring.

"Matou, you have to understand that while I admire your strong sense of principles, it is not always necessary for you to take matters into your own hands," Lockhart responded eventually. "There are usually ways in which to ensure what you wish comes to pass, without exposing yourself to the spotlight. In the rare occasions when public exposure is unavoidable, however, I expect you to weigh the consequences – both to yourself and to the others you involve – before acting."

Shinji winced.

"I…uh…is this about the…expedition I went on?" he inquired, not entirely at ease with where this conversation was going.

"In part," Lockhart confirmed, the smile on his face vanishing entirely. "Though it is rather more about your as a whole, since you seem to have gone out of your way to make an enemy of the British people."

"I—"

"I am quite aware of what your intentions were – or at least, what I hope they were – but you need to be aware of how your actions will be perceived, especially when faced with a hostile press," the man continued, the displeasure on his face now quite obvious. "In previous years, your…bold statements and brashness were welcomed by the press, as they were well disposed towards you and the other Stone Cutters. This year, those advantages are gone. This year, the fact that you are a foreigner is a mark against you, and the further you distance yourself from Britain, the more you will be seen as a traitor – and a target."

"…at least no one's tried to kill me yet?" Shinji offered weakly, but Lockhart's expression, if anything, only grew more severe. "Over my recent actions, I mean," he amended, remembering that there was likely at least one Dark Lord after his blood, not to mention Tomas using the Killing Curse on him, the _tanuki_ doing its level best to end his life, and that _onikuma_ that had almost ripped his head off.

"Mister Matou, if you were to make an enemy of…certain organizations, then I assure you, you would not know they were after you. You – and likely entire family – would simply be dead," Lockhart stated bluntly, as Shinji jerked backwards, remembering that the Einzbern did hold something of a grudge against him over the business with Ilya. "While I concede that you can certainly be quite dangerous when you are aware a threat is upon you, you are just as vulnerable when asleep as any one of us."

Then the man smiled, a cold, terrible expression that had little mirth in it whatsoever.

"Indeed, I hear one of your classmates learned _that_ lesson at Durmstrang. A certain Zacharias Smith, who…froze to death in his sleep, the official story goes," the Assassin noted, as his eyes froze Shinji in his place. "How unfortunate for him, going to sleep in such an open...vulnerable...place. At the mercy of the elements – or whatever came his way."

"…I get it," Shinji grumbled, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. "If the press could get pictures of me and Fleur in the Great Hall, then anyone who wished…"

"Could have taken the chance to do you harm, yes," Lockhart supplied. "In fact, I imagine that one did, and just happened to be stopped by any security at the event."

"…Smith?"

"Indeed."

"But why…?"

"Hufflepuffs value loyalty above all else, Mister Matou," the Professor answered simply. "Logically it also means that what they detest most is disloyalty. Treason. Being unfaithful to your role and your obligations."

"So that means…"

"It means that _if_ he tried to kill you and was slain for his trouble, then his blood is on your hands, Mister Matou," Lockhart said with finality.

"I…" Shinji's words failed him, and he looked down at his hands, as if he could see them covered in blood.

"If you're about to apologize, don't bother," the voice of the Assassin broke in, his tone knowing - sickeningly so. "After all, that isn't why you came here, is it?"

Shinji just shook his head.

"You came here, because you wanted my advice on how to fix your image, and how to prepare yourself for the upcoming Potions Championship, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"For the first, I would advise that you remain at Hogwarts these next few days, at least until the new year, visibly working on preparations for your event and not causing…trouble," the man said quietly, steepling his fingers. "Preferably in the company of Miss Lovegood, which will throw off some of those more…salacious rumors of you being seduced by Miss Delacour and enjoying her amorous embraces."

Shinji grimaced, but nodded.

"It probably is too late to deal with that in its entirety, given the photos in the _Prophet_ , but I suppose I can arrange for you to be interviewed by Rita Skeeter, so you can attempt to set the story right, if you wish," Lockhart suggested, though the man didn't seem overly optimistic about the chances of this working out for the better. "I warn you that dear Rita is out for a story first and foremost, but you should know that, having spoken with her before, yes?"

"Yes," the boy from the east said reluctantly. "But…sir, why did Pansy…?"

"Because if she hadn't, someone else would have," the man supplied. "Taking her on your expedition cost her dearly in her internship with the _Daily Prophet_ , so she wanted to do something to make her position more secure." The man smirked then, ever so slightly. "Besides, as I said, you were out in the open."

The British Potions Champion sighed, but nodded.

"With regards to the Championship, is there anything in particular you wished to know about, or did you just want an overview of how to survive in an unknown land?" Lockhart inquired. "Not, of course, that you don't already have some experience, given your expeditions to acquire familiars. Miss Parkinson filled me in about how that went, after all."

"Well…"

"Though, now that I mention familiars, that brings up another point…"

"Yes, mentor?"

"Would you like to tell me what you and your familiar are capable of, so I can better tailor my advice and training to your needs?" the man inquired. "I would rather not waste my time - and yours - by having to assess you first, as I know you've been holding back during our sessions."

Despite all the time-saving measures he had put into place over the years, and the markedly reduced amount of travel he was permitted to do these days, given the situation in Britain, the History Professor of Hogwarts was a very busy man. By any measure, preparing lectures, grading assignments, and arranging for the more motivated of students to take part in interesting learning opportunities such as Insurgency was a full-time job in and of itself - and that didn't take into account the time he spent on his writing, on training particularly talented students like Pansy Parkinson and Matou Shinji, and on the many other activities he was involved in - including a weekly column on practical self-defense that he authored for the Daily Prophet and other publications.

Thus, he wanted to know what Shinji's weaknesses were, so that he could better train the boy, especially as they only had a week.

Feeling rather worn and defeated from everything that had transpired, Shinji only nodded.

"I figure if anyone knows me - especially my weaknesses - it's Luna," Shinji replied to the man's unspoken question. "She's more experienced than I am at surviving in the wilderness, after all. Even taught me how to cook. So beyond just asking me, check with her."

"Ah yes, you trust her. Especially after she was willing to lay down her life for yours, yes?" Lockhart inquired softly.

Shinji nodded.

"...that's right, mentor," the Boy from the East replied, nodding his head.

"More than you trust me, of course."

"Of co-"

Shinji's reply, which he'd begun to voice almost automatically in response to Lockhart's matter of fact tone, died in his mouth, as he felt a shiver go down his spine.

"Such is not unexpected, given who we are, Matou. Even so, given why you are here, I'm afraid I will have to ask for you to be upfront about what you are able to do. I have seen some of it, and know more from what my apprentice has mentioned, but I suspect there are some things you have yet to reveal, yes?"

Matou Shinji was silent.

"You are a person who enjoys secrets, who enjoys knowing what others do not, Mister Matou. Yet in this place - in my office - if you seek my help, you will have to reveal some of what you have hidden. Is that understood?"

"...I know, mentor," Shinji finally answered.

And, so in response to Lockhart's query, the boy laid out what it was he was able to do - and how it was, with Zelkova's help - he had accomplished most of his feats, with Luna supplying what he could not.

Admitting it was hard - and made him feel more than a bit like a fraud, given how he'd misrepresented himself to so many people over the years - yet Luna's presence, and the fact that she knew who and what he was, yet accepted him anyway, gave him some reassurance.

Not enough reassurance to mention the Room of Requirement or to tell Lockhart about his mansion, and his secret link to the school (which was how he disappeared so often), but some, all the same.

"I see. I can think of a few things that would be immediately useful, given your situation. One, of course, is improving your combat abilities - learning to stay in fusion for a prolonged period of time and unlocking the ability to flow-walk in combat, as you Easterners put it. Another would be intensive practice at surviving in nature - with only a wand. A third would be experience fighting against a number of different foes - I understand you often spar with Miss Lovegood, but a bit of...variety would be useful, given that your foes are likely to use quite different styles. I can help facilitate that, given the many styles I have seen over the years."

He chuckled.

"Alternatively, if you would care to try a game of Insurgency, we can help identify what your weak points might be when it comes to situations where you are outnumbered and as the Americans might say, outgunned," Lockhart suggested. "My students have found it most...helpful for them."

"Let's go with improving my combat abilities," Shinji decided, hoping he wasn't making the wrong choice. "I need to be able to flow-walk reliably, and to hold fusion for longer. The rest – the other things – they're nice, but…"

Not essential.

"So be it then. We'll begin on the morrow, and work until New Year's Eve, where I expect you to dine with the Ourea," Lockhart intoned. "After all, it has been such a long time since you've talked with members of the organization you hoped to found, hasn't it?"

"It has," Shinji agreed, wondering what they thought of him now, and hoping – hoping they didn't see him in the same light as the rest of Britain.

"It has, indeed," the Assassin agreed. "The Eve is an interesting time, with quite a few revelations to be had, and choices to be made about…old friends. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Lovegood?"

"Mm," the petite blonde agreed. "I suppose."

"Luna? What does he mean?" Shinji questioned, glancing at his lover, but the girl only looked at him serenely.

"You'll know soon enough," she replied airily, leaving him wondering what it was she wasn't telling him. But he didn't resist when she took his hand. "Come. There's work to be done."

After all, there most certainly was.


	61. Experimentation

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 61.** _Experimentation_

Matou Shinji looked on dispassionately as rivulets of crimson ran down his wrist and fingers, flowing freely from the deep gashes he'd inflicted on himself. Slowly, as he watched, his blood dribbled and dripped into the cauldron below, splattering as each drop hit the surface, dying the once pallid mixture incarnadine.

' _I just hope that what I'm making doesn't blow up in my face…'_ he thought to himself, aware that fiery explosions, toxic vapours and other potentially lethal consequences were all possibilities when one was experimenting with unorthodox ingredients and techniques.

He'd done what he could to mitigate the risks, having downed a bezoar before commencing his experiments, as well as having Zelkova create a bounded field around his brewing station that would the force of any possible explosion upwards (and hence away from him) in the event of a spectacularly catastrophic failure, though he suspected that all his precautions would be of quite limited use if a mishap occurred just as he was adding an ingredient to the mix.

'… _which, sadly, is the most likely time for something to happen.'_

In that not unlikely eventuality, Shinji would just have to hope there would be enough left of him for Luna, who was some ways away, monitoring his mental and physical state as he brewed, to put back together…or, well, enough that she could at least keep him alive long enough for Touko to make him a new body or something.

' _Not that Aozaki-san would be willing to do such a thing without me giving her some exorbitant sum of money.'_

Or some other sort of payment, he supposed, like being her indentured servant for a few decades.

Or both, since if he did end up urgently needing a new body, it wasn't as if he would be able to shop around for a better offer.

' _Or that the Director would come to my rescue, since I wouldn't have done anything deserving of it.'_

Which just meant he had to be careful.

At least, as careful as he _could_ be when attempting to invent a potion that would at impress the spirit of Zygmunt Budge – or at least, somewhat satisfy the great potioneer – while feeling light-headed from a mix of blood loss and frustration.

In the span of three days, he'd already destroyed a handful of cauldrons, had a too-close encounter with an explosion which had singed his eyebrows – and eyelashes – clean off, nearly poisoned himself twice, and had passed out from sheer exhaustion once, nearly knocking the scalding contents of his cauldron onto himself as he slumped to the ground.

This, even more than the fact he enjoyed spending time with her, explained why Luna was present, as she knew better than anyone that he was a bit of a risktaker who liked to ignore the limitations of his merely mortal flesh.

Limitations which included the need for sleep and eat, and of course, the fact that it took the body some time to replenish lost blood, even with magical assistance.

Given how much of his blood he'd already spilled in his pursuit of a grand potion over the last few days…

' _This is my last chance to get this right…'_

Luna rarely made demands of him, but when she did, he listened – especially when he knew that he wasn't being at all objective about his situation, that he was letting the spirit of the _Book of Potions_ get to him.

It was…well, it was utter foolishness to believe that he might be able to improve enough as a potioneer in less than a month that Zygmunt Budge, a man who had spent an entire lifetime dedicated to his art, might come to approve of him as Champion, if only grudgingly, but Matou Shinji figured that as a youth, he was entitled to at least a _little_ foolishness.

And that if he told himself it was impossible and didn't even try, then it would be.

Thus, it was that in the last few days, he'd pushed himself harder than he'd ever done, training with Lockhart from morning till noon, and brewing from noon till midnight, trusting that if he went _too_ far, became a bit _too_ reckless, Luna would step in to make him stop.

Not that he wasn't already being reckless enough, considering that his experimentations were driven not by anything he'd been formally taught, but by what bits of Eastern potions lore he'd managed to glean from working with Ayaka and what he remembered from his intensive study of the Matou Library years ago.

 _'Blood. Blood is the key...'_ he thought. _'It must be. Some kind of sacrifice, anyway…'_

It was the one piece out of all of it which made sense, given that creating potions was not completely unlike the rituals of formalcraft, with the brewing process being the method through which a potioneer drew out the raw power latent in the ingredients being used, so that he or she could shape that power into a usable form – whether through how the ingredients were prepared and combined, or through the magic one infused into the final concoction (whether subconsciously or explicitly through the use of a spell).

It was that exercise of will and magic that gave competently brewed potions their effects, rather than leaving them as the toxic slurries of blended reagents they would otherwise be – as several unfortunate potioneers, including Quintia McQuoid, in whose memory the first Wizarding Schools Potions Championship was, had discovered.

' _Which is why I'm using some of my own blood as part of the formula, given that it should be the most compatible with my will and magical energies.'_

Though even with that, some bark from Zelkova's tree, and the rare ingredients he'd procured from Slughorn's supply cabinet, ingredients with such interesting names as Hemlock Essence, Horn of Bicorn, and infusion of Wormwood (among others), the resultant solution had still been…unstable.

…and no, he hadn't needed to have it blow up in his face to confirm that, thank you very much. It had been apparent enough in how the magical energy he infused into it failed to take, or failed to take properly, at any rate.

' _I'm missing something,'_ he mused, as he pulled his hand away from the cauldron and slapped a sealing _ofuda_ over his wrist to stop the bleeding. _'Some crucial ingredient to balance out the others. But what?'_

It wasn't as if he had access to _Mahoutokoro's_ potion stocks – or the Isle's – while he was here at Hogwarts, and even if he did, he wasn't exactly sure what he needed.

' _Sion would know – or would be able to calculate – what should be added to this potion to keep the matrix stable. Even Sajyou-san, or Lestrange, but I…'_

The boy smiled bitterly, knowing how slipshod and limited his training was compared to those of the Director of Atlas, or really, any true Alchemist, or Potioneer. Then too, they had the benefit of raw talent, whereas his own gifts had never really lain in creating things – just destroying them.

' _Which is, after all, why Master was never truly pleased with me, I suppose. She creates things – puppets, automata surpassing the work of any other magus today. Me? I'm a practitioner of witchcraft, just making my way in the world.'_

And it seemed that in the role of Potions Champion, in which all he had gained and all he had learned was being put to the test, Matou Shinji had been found wanting.

It was a bitter truth to swallow, that after coming so far, doing so much, it wasn't enough – it might never _be_ enough.

' _Why? Why won't this work?'_

He wasn't asking for the world, just the ability to craft a single potion.

Just one potion – a potion that the world had never seen before, something that might impress even one of the greatest potioneers to ever live.

' _Though even he took a lifetime to come up with Feli—'_

A chill ran down the boy's spine as his thought processes screeched to a halt.

"That's it!" he muttered to himself, his eyes widening in realization as he remembered an ingredient – or rather, a _potion_ , he had not yet tried adding to the mix. _"Felix Felicis!"_

The crowning achievement of Zygmunt Budge's career, which had cemented – or would have cemented, had those of Hogwarts not stolen his credit – the man's reputation as a master of his Art, _Felix Felicis_ stood at the pinnacle of what it was possible for one to create using the knowledge of the west.

It was called Liquid Luck, but it wasn't really bottled fortune at all.

It was the manipulation of fate.

After all, it didn't, strictly speaking, boost one's chances of success in an endeavor. It simply guaranteed that one would succeed in what one sought to accomplish within a certain timeframe – provided what one was attempting was not outright impossible to begin with, given one's abilities and the situation at hand, and provided that those who might be one's opponents were not likewise manipulating fate, whether through magic or through the use of a similar potion.

As for why excessive consumption was highly toxic and could cause extreme recklessness, well, in using such a potion, one was interfering with the natural order of the world, and while the world might be willing to tolerate a small-scale, short-term disruption that corrected itself relatively quickly, prolonged – or large-scale – use, would trigger the intervention of the Counter Force.

' _But if I don't drink it, if I just use it in a potion, surely there would be no reason for any intervention, yes?'_

He didn't even need to use all of the precious golden fluid – just a bit, just enough to force the matrix to stabilize – even if was really a one-time solution, since he didn't want to use up the rest of what he had before the Potions Championship.

' _Eh, it's my last shot anyway. Might as well.'_

With a sigh, the boy reached into the mokeskin pouch at his waist, withdrawing the small vial which was likely the third or fourth most expensive item he owned (after his house, his armor, and his living wand), due to what it contained. Carefully, very, very carefully, he unscrewed the container, extracting a single pendulous drop of what was within with a hollow gold needle, and adding that to the cauldron with a silent prayer to any gods – any power – that might hear him.

 _Hiss! Bubble! Pop!_

The contents of the cauldron shuddered violently as this final ingredient was added, molten gold blending with incarnadine in a violent reaction, the energies – and colors – of the liquid twisting, tangling, _writhing_ in a maelstrom.

It lasted a small eternity, during which Matou Shinji could not look away, and when it passed,so too did the brilliant colors that had once been, leaving only a silver solution that glowed with a pale inner light.

' _This is it…'_

Every sense, every instinct, every whisper in his mind told him that it was _perfect._

' _But there's only one way to test that, isn't there?'_ he thought, smiling faintly – and hoping that he wasn't about to make the last mistake he would ever make in his short life.

He was just reaching for the spoon he kept at his workstation to test its effects when a dream-like voice broke in, interrupting his trance-like reverie.

"Are you sure about this?" Luna asked, from where she stood, immediately behind him. So enthralled had he been by what he was brewing that he hadn't even noticed her approach… "I can—" she offered.

"No," Shinji replied, shaking his head. "No. It has to be me."

He had brewed the potion, and as such, it was his responsibility, so without another word, he seized the spoon, scooped up some of the silvery contents of the potion, and brought the merest drop of the pale concoction to his lips, as the world he knew _faded._

The colors of the world vanished.

The cold metal spoon slipped through his hands, clattering on a floor that wasn't entirely there.

The cauldron in which he brewed his final solution was a smoky, indistinct blur wrapped around a blazing silver sun, the light of which illuminated the chamber in which he was standing.

Even the walls, the ceiling, and the floor seemed to dissolve, becoming a hazy blur of azure light.

' _What…?'_

The boy whirled around, seeing Luna there – only she too was changed. She wore something quite different from the Hogwarts uniform – though what it was he could not tell, as her form glowed with a cobalt brilliance that took his breath away.

' _Fusion?'_

So, it seemed, given that from slightly above her derriere protruded two glowing, fluffy tails.

Looking towards where Zelkova had been, Shinji was surprised to see – instead of a boy, or a fox, or a ghost light – a faintly shimmering tree.

' _Is this…?'_

As for himself – he felt light, powerful, like he could go anywhere, do anything. He felt free, more free than he'd ever been in his life, and as he stepped forward, he found his feet leaving the ground – and his form staying aloft.

He could fly?

He could _fly._

Matou Shinji laughed as he launched himself into the air, accelerating faster-faster-faster still, up to the speed of the best broom and _beyond_ as he zoomed about – whizzing about the room in figure eights, spirals, barrel rolls, before barreling into – and through – the suddenly appearing door of the Room of Requirement into the hallway outside it, where he found himself alone.

The walls of Hogwarts glowed very faintly with magic, but ahead of him, above him, beneath him – was emptiness.

He'd gone past the hallway, it seemed, and was suspended above thin air.

This…this was incredible.

"Who are you? I don't recognize you, and I've seen all the ghosts in this…?" a voice demanded, with Shinji turning to see…

' _Moaning Myrtle?'_

…the glowing outline of a girl, in full Hogwarts uniform and thick glasses.

"…you," the girl whispered, paling – if that were possible – as she recognized him. "How…did you die?" Her words came out in a rush, leaving Shinji confused.

"…I beg your pardon?" the boy from the east asked. "I'm not dead."

"What do you mean?" Myrtle exclaimed, seeming utterly confused. "You're one of us now!" she whispered, floating up to him, as her surprisingly solid fingers trailed across his chest. "See?" she said almost mischievously.

Shinji jerked backwards at the unexpected touch, the sudden movement causing him to slam him into the wall behind him and come to a halt, leaving the ghost confused.

That didn't stop Moaning Myrtle from approaching him though, since if him being a puzzle, something _new_ , only made him more curious.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of a woman's touch," Myrtle whispered slyly as she all touched down and almost sauntered towards him, trying to imitate how she had seen older – more confident – living girls walk when the wanted to attract someone's attention. "I can teach you everything you need to know. After all," she said, almost predatorially, "we have all eternity together, don't w—?"

' _Bind.'_

Moaning Myrtle fell to the floor, eyes wide with terror and shock as a surprisingly solid _ofuda_ shot from his sleeve and covered her mouth.

' _What on earth…?'_ he asked himself, standing and brushing himself off as he looked down at the not-too-ghostly girl. Before his eyes, the world around him suddenly regained its solidity, and color, the euphoria and feeling of utter freedom fading away, with everything seeming almost _painful_ in their absence.

Without a word, he released Myrtle from the binding _ofuda_ , watching as the girl shot backwards away from him in terror.

"How?" she whispered, her ghostly visage visibly trembling. "I thought…"

"Ah, you see, rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Shinji replied, a faint smile crossing his lips as he recalled that he'd used that particular line before. "I don't have to die to gain your particular abilities…"

"But…how? Becoming a spirit, something like a spirit, that's…" She swallowed, shrinking back under the force of his gaze. "Dark, dark magic…necromancy."

"What?"

"They were right. Having the power to affect ghosts, cutting off Nick's head, becoming _like us_ – you're a necromancer, aren't you?! The darkest sort of—" she accused, eyes flashing as she backed away – only to freeze as she saw a number of _ofuda_ surrounding her. "

"Now, why don't you just calm down, Myrtle? You wouldn't want people to assume what you're saying is true, after all," Shinji said, _almost_ affably, as his _ofuda_ lazily circled the ghostly girl. "After all, one mustn't tell lies, hm?"

Myrtle's eyes darted about frantically, trying to track the slips of paper which spun all around her. If one could freeze her, what could…what could a swarm of them do? Tear her apart? Force her to experience agony not unlike what the cruciatus could do to the living? End her entirely?

"You…you're like _him_ , aren't you? Only you don't even need a magic ring to what you do," she whispered, knowing true fear for the first time in a long time. "You…please. Please…don't..."

"Don't what?" Shinji asked, the corners of his lips curling up into an almost cruel smirk as he noted how his accuser cowered before him.

Instead of answering, however, Myrtle fled, her form slipping through the wall with a strangled yelp, as the door to the Room of Requirement opened, with a normal looking Luna Lovegood stepping out into the hallway next to him.

"Are you alright, Matou Shinji?" she asked quietly.

"Better," Shinji replied, turning to his lover and surprising her with a deep, hungry kiss – to which she responded quite readily. "Better than alright."

"You took spirit form – that was the work of your potion?" she asked, when their lips parted after some time.

"It was," the boy confirmed. "And there's a cauldron full of it left…enough for me to show Budge at any rate, though I won't be able to use it as my final potion, I think."

"Mm."

"And you? How long were you in fusion without my knowing it?"

"Oh, the entire time," came the simple reply, as silver eyes looked into grey. "I wondered when you'd notice. You were concentrating rather greatly on that potion, after all."

"I had to."

"If you say so," Luna allowed, kissing him gently. "I'm glad," she added.

"Hm?"

"…that you didn't die. Like mother."

Giving in to the powerful pang of protectiveness he felt, Shinji embraced the girl before him, holding her tight in his arms.

"Thank you. For looking out for me."

"Mm."

In the back of his mind, though, he managed to muster enough concentration to say something to Zelkova over his mental link.

' _Why didn't you tell me she was fused this whole time?'_

' _Why, Master, you never asked.'_

Shinji just sighed, as Luna looked up at him quizzically.

"…I need to be better at communicating, don't I?" he asked aloud.

Luna, as was her wont, said nothing, but a reply came over Shinji's mental link, deferential and perhaps somewhat…amused?

'… _your words, Master, not mine.'_


	62. Question and Answer

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 62.** _Question and Answer_

After days of experimentation and training, during which Matou Shinji had come close to dying several times, whether by the simple expedients of exsanguination, explosion, asphyxiation or simple mortification, the boy called a halt to his labours. His efforts in the days after Christmas had borne fruit in the form of a promising potion he'd created through blood magic, which according to Zelkova, had the curious effect of shifting him into a different layer of reality – the one in which spirits primarily operated.

' _I don't think I'll be able to use that specific recipe during the Championship, but having an example of what is_ possible _through combining Eastern and Western potion lore gives me something to aim to create.'_

Success tended to be somewhat easier to reach when one had some idea of what one was trying to accomplish – much as, in focusing on becoming more competent with his movement skills while working with Lockhart these past few days, he'd finally made some headway with flow-walking, such that he could mostly use the ability if he tried hard enough.

' _My grasp of it isn't flawless, but I didn't expect flawless. And today…today is New Year's Eve.'_

The Eve – the final day of the old year – was the second most important day of the year, a day to reflect on all that had transpired over the last 365 days, and to make a head start on any resolutions one had for the new year.

So, though important events loomed ever closer in the distance, Matou Shinji had decided to spend the day resting and taking in what had become of Hogwarts while he hadn't been paying attention, and of course, what had become of his reputation among them, given all the lies that had been written about him in the _Daily Prophet_ …and his unpleasant encounter with Moaning Myrtle the other day.

Fortunately, it didn't seem like the wretched spirit told anyone credible about her suspicions that he had become a necromancer, though even without that, the stares and glares that followed him as he made his way about the castle made it eminently clear what most of his peers thought of him.

' _Years of hard work building up my reputation…wasted_ ,' he thought, feeling indignant that so many who used to look up to him now…did not, instead thinking of him as some opportunistic lecher who did whatever he pleased, driven more by the need to impress a pretty face than for grave matters such as honor.

Oh, the people he talked to were polite enough to his face, but once he'd left, and they thought he was out of earshot…

"I'm sorry things are like this," Luna murmured from beside him as they walked, squeezing his hand as if to reassure him that she, at least, supported him still. "It's not right, how they're treating you."

"As if I'm useless, or worse?" Shinji asked bitterly, shaking his head. "At least it's still not as bad as how my…my grandfather looked at me in the end. Their hate has nothing on that of a centuries old archmagus."

Thinking of his last encounter with Matou Zouken, in which turned his blade against his grandfather and had been cast out of his family, the boy felt a pang in his chest. He'd tried to impress the old man too, but in the end, all Zouken had really seen was that he'd betrayed the family out of a desire for personal advancement.

' _Yes, I made mistakes. I didn't ask about the family history and our arts when I could have, as I had other mentors to learn from. I charmed Tohsaka perhaps too much, without any intention of marrying her to bolster the Matou family fortunes. I brought the wrath of the Einzbern upon us. But none of that was just out of ambition.'_

Given that Touko and Kaiduka had been willing to teach him, he would have been a fool not to take them up on their offers. On the matter of Tohsaka, it was no secret that he'd admired her for a long time, and so took no small amount of pleasure in seeing her blush and stammer when she took in his wealth and power. And as for the Einzbern…

' _I just wanted Ilya to be happy, because she deserved so much more than what life had given her.'_

He didn't regret telling her what he had. Not really. Not even if, in the end, he'd been cast out of his family for it, because in his mind, he had done the right thing.

' _And what is right is not always what is easy, or what is convenient.'_

Which was something he kept in mind as he dealt with his colleagues in Magical Britain this year, many of which had turned against him because they could not see what he was trying to accomplish – couldn't see that what he had done had been _right_.

' _But then, of course they can't,'_ he reasoned. _'They're missing several key pieces of information and so are filling in the blanks from what they know.'_

Not that he had any intention of correcting them, despite how grating their…slander and libel was, given that telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth would mean damning himself – or for that matter, George, who at this point might be something of a Dark Wizard, though Shinji didn't know for sure – and didn't really want to know, if he was being honest.

"Are you sure about this…dinner, Luna?" the boy asked weakly, as they approached their destination. "I wouldn't mind just spending the evening with you, you know. Instead of with…" He made some vague gesture. "Less than half the Ourea, since most of them are still at Durmstrang anyway."

"Mm," Luna responded, uttering a wordless sound. "There will be time, afterwards," the girl murmured. "Besides, even if you don't want to go, you left me as the leader, so I have to."

"…ah, duty before pleasure, is it?" Shinji grumbled, shaking his head. "Oh, very well then. If you insist."

His stomach chose that very moment to growl, given that he hadn't eaten much all day.

"…besides, it sounds like you need it."

* * *

In his years at Hogwarts, Shinji had often presided over Ourea dinner meetings, with the group talking of many odd things as they sat around a table laden with all sorts of interesting delicacies that would not be found in the Great Hall. On some occasions, they had discussed historical scenarios; on some occasions, politics and current events; on some occasions, upcoming events like the Tri-Wizard Tournament, or their future ambitions.

Still, joining his former companions for the Eve was a rather odd experience, not least because he no longer formally led the Ourea, and was instead the guest of honor. As well, everyone his age or older – save for Pansy and of course, Lockhart – was absent, with the rest of those around the table being only third years or younger.

Not to mention the fact that the fare on the table was very, very Japanese, with each person having before them a steaming bowl of _udon_ topped with _tempura_ , some greens, and a single raw egg.

" _Toshikoshi Udon_ , eh?" Shinji murmured, as he took his seat, with Luna to his left and Pansy to his right.

"Yes. I hope it is to your taste. As you are the guest of honor tonight, I thought you would appreciate something from your homeland," Lockhart noted solicitously from across the table. "And _toshikoshi udon_ is part of a traditional eve, as one waits for the new year together with family or friends."

"Indeed," Shinji agreed, with a faint smile. "Quite different from the wild parties in the West. But then we often save those for Christmas Day."

A few second years raised their eyebrows at this. They'd never seen the Potions Champion in this sort of setting before, and it disarmed them to see him being so friendly and affable, given how the Matou Shinji depicted in the Prophet seemed very much like a beast – a creature of dark magic who was a slave to his lusts.

"Oh? But George and Fred told me you threw quite the party last year, in that fancy manor of yours!" Ginny commented. "You even shared with them some exotic new dish. _Pizzo_ , or something?"

"I believe the word you're looking for is pizza, Miss Weasley," Lockhart corrected genially. " _Pizzo_ , as I recall from my travels, means something rather different and rather less savoury."

Indeed, while a pizza was a yeasted flatbread typically topped with tomato sauce, cheese, and other ingredients, before being baked in an oven, _pizzo_ was protection money paid to the Sicilian Mafia.

"That's right – pizza! You had the house elves make that for us at the welcome dinner for the Ourea," Ginny commented. "You've had it too, then, Professor? And you know how to make it?"

"Miss Weasley, I've traveled the world as an adventurer, and in my line of work, you learn to appreciate a good meal wherever you can get it," the man noted. "And frankly, after solving strange puzzles to break the seals of ancient temples and strongholds, or outwitting dangerous beasts the world over, remembering a recipe is a bagatelle." He turned to his young apprentice, who had traveled with him over the summer. "Wouldn't you agree, Miss Parkinson?"

"Mm, I would, yes. Though I tend to remember desserts more than main dishes," the young Assassin-in-training replied amiably. "Like the _bamieh_ and _baklava_ that will be brought out for dessert."

An Iranian dish, bamieh were delectable bite-sized pieces of syrup-soaked fried dough, crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside — and fragrant thanks to the rosewater- and saffron-infused syrup they were liberally soaked with.

Baklava, on the other hand, were rich, sweet dessert pastries of Turkish or Greek origin, made of layers of filo filled with chopped nuts and sweetened and held together with syrup or honey.

"Well, that's no surprise to me," Lockhart commented. "As for the rest of you, please, help yourself to some of delicious food. I'm sure the Potions Champion can answer questions while we're eating, yes?"

Wordlessly, they dug in, each partaking of the grand feast that had been provided for them. For a few minutes, they concentrated on tasting the delights spread before them, savoring each bit and relishing how it filled their empty stomachs.

Soon enough though, the questions began.

"So, Champion Matou…" a girl asked, looking up from her food. A small brunette who seemed unreasonably endowed for her age, with a distinct fondness for green, as seen by her dress and the ribbons woven through her hair. This was Hestia Carrow, half the young Slytherin contingent of the current Ourea.

"What news do you bring from Durmstrang?" her twin Flora – the other half of the Ourea's young Slytherin contingent, chimed in.

"We don't exactly hear much about what goes on there," Ginny explained, almost apologetically. "All we normally get is what's in the _Prophet,_ and that, uh…" She glanced at Pansy, who waved for her to continue. "…doesn't seem to be the most reliable publication these days."

"I have mentioned that before," Luna commented, with her old friend grimacing at the Stone Cutter's words. "Usually when we discuss the stories covered in the _Quibbler_."

"Yes, well...this and that are different things," Ginny responded, trying to be tactful about her opinion of the…publication run by Luna's father. "In any case, since you're here, Champion, perhaps you wouldn't mind telling us about the Tournament? Or any news about my brothers?"

"I'm not in the same Banner as Fred, George, or Ron, so I wouldn't be able to tell you much about what's happening with them," Shinji said apologetically. "Honestly, I wish I knew more myself, though I will say that George seems to be doing quite well as a Champion though. He hasn't exactly demonstrated the ability to cast a corporeal Patronus yet, unlike Fleur, but he's doing well enough."

"True, at least he wasn't mauled during the first task, like Viktor Krum," Pansy interjected. "A solid performance so far, showing off his cleverness, without giving away any of his skills."

"A Patronus?" a third year asked – one Colin Creevy of Gryffindor. "The Beauxbatons Champion cast a Patronus? I didn't read about _this_ in the paper!"

Shinji glanced at Pansy questioningly, but the brunette only replied with a single word: "Editors."

"How _did_ my brother pass the first Task?" Ginny questioned. "The article was remarkably sparse on details, saying only that he had used his wit and cunning to overcome where the Durmstrang Champion's use of the Dark Arts failed."

"The first task, as you may recall, was to retrieve a golden orb from the bottom of a lake, which doesn't sound too terrible until you remember that Durmstrang is far colder than Hogwarts, that there was a Selma living in the lake, and that touching the orb draws the Selma to you," Shinji noted, shaking his head. "Fleur used her Patronus to bring the orb to the surface, Krum brought it up by hand, and George froze the water around it."

"Froze the water around it?" A Hufflepuff boy echoed, narrowing his eyes – one Anthony Otterburn, who like most of his House, was remarkably fond of plants. "And how would that…?

"Ice is less dense than water," Pansy replied.

The Hufflepuff boy just looked blankly at her.

"Well, you've had cold drinks before. Haven't you seen how ice floats on water?" Pansy asked dryly.

"…ohh," Anthony responded, nodding slowly. "Why didn't you just say that to begin with?"

"…I did, just not in so many words," the Slytherin girl said, shaking her head.

"Speaking of Miss Delacour," Hestia interjected, turning her curious gaze on one Matou Shinji.

"What exactly is your relationship with her?" her twin, Flora, supplied, looking at him in the same fashion as her sister.

"The _Prophet_ has much to say."

"Words."

"Pictures."

"Stories."

"But we're not sure what they're saying is…the truth," Hestia concluded, noting that the two Stone Cutters in the room seemed as close as ever, reasoning that, if something _had_ happened, surely this would not be the case.

"Aren't we?" a third girl asked. This was Heather Barnaby, a Hufflepuff, who like many of the others in the room, had been on Luna's Capture the Flag team the year before. "I'd say the picture of them sleeping together is pretty conclusive, wouldn't you? She…she didn't even seem to be wearing anything in that picture!"

"…being completely fair, that had more to do with the angle at which the picture was taken," Pansy broke in. "Not that Matou and Miss Delacour were not in matching outfits, with hers being somewhat revealing."

Shinji shot Pansy a _look,_ as if to say "whose side are you on", with the brunette saying nothing further, though the corners of her lips tugged upwards in amusement.

"What Pansy _isn't_ saying is that _all_ of the Champions were wearing matching outfits," the Boy from the East corrected her. "Provided to us by Beauxbatons courtesy of fashion house LeShin." He smiled, ever so slightly. "A gesture of international cooperation, as it symbolized that, for all our differences, we were all Champions."

"Oh, was that what it was for?" Pansy inquired, raising an eyebrow. "I thought perhaps _LeShin_ just wanted some free publicity, given that the Champions' Ball would be covered by many of the leading papers of Europe?"

"…I suppose that might have been one of their motives," Shinji replied after a beat. "I wouldn't know, of course."

"Of course," Pansy echoed, though she sounded…not entirely convinced. "I wouldn't mind an outfit like the one Fleur wore, of course. Though I'd like mine in dark blue." She chuckled, though there was a bit of an edge to it. "Not that it matters, since none of us can exactly send out mail outside the country, can we?"

"Anyway," Shinji said quickly, changing the topic before it could get uncomfortable for him. "Any other questions about the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

"Well, not exactly about the Tournament, but I kind of wanted to know what Durmstrang was like," Ginny replied.

"Ah…" Shinji smiled slightly, thinking about the people he'd met in the Banner of Ravens. "Well, Durmstrang is a good place for learning, actually. The school might be cold and dark most of the time, they might indeed teach the Dark Arts, and they don't have House Elves to do the cooking, the cleaning, or the laundry for students, but the way the school is setup engenders a sense of discipline and responsibility you don't see at Hogwarts."

"…no House Elves?" Colin blinked. "But how…?"

"The students do the cooking, cleaning, and everything else," Shinji explained. "They're organized into three Banners – Serpent, Raven, and Wolf – with each Banner having several duty rotations a week."

"That must make it hard for them to have classes together," Ginny noted. "Or really do much together."

"Yeah. Each Banner is a lot more self-contained than any of the Houses of Hogwarts," the Boy from the East confirmed. "Though if you don't like your Banner, you can choose to go to another one, once a year."

"Oh?" Anthony Otterburn frowned. "That doesn't really encourage a sense of loyalty, does it? Since you can just leave."

"I actually think it does better than the Hogwarts system," Pansy interjected. When the Hufflepuffs in the room turned to her, their eyes silently asking for an explanation, she smiled wryly. "At Hogwarts, it doesn't matter if you change your mind, or hate the people you're living with. The only person it affects is you, since you can't leave – from the moment you're sorted, you're a Slytherin, a Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff, and that's that. At Durmstrang, because it's the students who do the work, each member of a Banner is valuable. If someone leaves, it means the rest have to take on their share of the work, so the leadership of each Banner works hard to make sure their subordinates are happy."

"And what if someone _does_ choose to leave then?" Otterburn questioned. "Despite how it would inconvenience everyone else."

"Then they are allowed to leave," Pansy responded with a shrug. "If someone is determined to leave, maybe it is for the best that they can." She raised a hand, forestalling the inevitable protest. "Don't misunderstand – people don't make such decisions lightly, since a person can choose to go to a new Banner once a year, and once only. But if things aren't working out where you are, why not try something new?"

"And whatever Banner they end up in," Shinji added, "they are still students of Durmstrang, and comrades in arms. So, it isn't a matter of loyalty, because at the end of the day, each Banner relies on each other to do their duty. Svalbard is a hard, and dangerous, place, after all."

"So, who are the Commanders, then, and how are they chosen?" Ginny inquired, curious now. "Are they students, like our prefects? Professors, like our Heads of Houses?"

"Students," the Boy from the East explained. "Each chosen by popular vote. They appoint their subordinates though."

"Popular vote?" Colin Creevy echoed. "That sounds a bit strange. The professors trust the students enough to give them that kind of power?"

"The professors don't really get themselves involved with student governance," Shinji corrected. "And if there are issues, they tend to be self-correcting, since an unpopular Commander can be deposed."

"Ah, so more like Professor Lockhart's Consul system."

"Just so," Lockhart said, speaking up, as all eyes turned to him. "At a school like Durmstrang, with its climate, the magic they teach, and the makeup of their student body, practical lessons in leadership are quite necessary. And well, such lessons are easier to impart when those learning them must juggle actual responsibilities, with actual consequences. But, don't let me interrupt."

"Thank you, Professor," the Boy from the East noted. He shook his head as he reflected on his last few years at Hogwarts, and how different the British school was from the institution in the north. "Aside from lessons, which are the responsibility of the Professors, the Council of the Host, which is made up of the three Commanders, effectively runs the school. They handle duty assignments, event planning, and even security."

"…security?" Ginny asked. "Why would they need something like that for…oh." Her eyes widened slightly in realization. "It's because of everyone else, isn't it?"

"Because of all the visitors, yes. And what happened earlier in the year," Shinji agreed. "It would look pretty bad if someone was attacked at the Champions' Ball or something like it, yes?"

"And what really happened this year?" Hestia Carrow inquired, looking at the Potions Champion with an intense, inscrutable expression.

"We heard that some Hufflepuffs died and others were sent back to Hogwarts after a vicious attack by Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour, with a few only surviving due to the intervention of one of the Commanders," Flora clarified, with Shinji making a face at what he was hearing. "Was that what really happened? Were they really attacked…by the Champions?"

Shinji grimaced. He might have guessed the topic would come up, and in all honesty, he didn't really want to talk about it, since he knew the truth. Perhaps if he waited, someone would change the topic?

…but no one did, with the rest just looking at him expectantly.

"It was more that _they_ tried to ambush Krum and Delacour," he said, feeling pressured to say _something_ after no one spoke.

"That's…that's not what we…"

"Not what you heard?" Shinji interrupted, glancing at Heather Barnaby – the young Hufflepuff who had spoken. "That's because the _Prophet_ and the Ministry _lied_."

A profound silence fell over most of the room.

"…what?" Ginny Weasley asked eventually. "But why would they…?"

"Do you remember what Professor Lockhart told us about examining what we are told and looking beyond the obvious?" he responded, a question for a question. When the redhead hesitantly nodded, Shinji continued. "Well then, when you consider that the Ministry is training an army, and is trying to convince the people of Britain that the rest of the world is arrayed against them, then doesn't such a thing fit neatly?" He chuckled – a harsh sound full of bitterness and long-suppressed rage. "It sounds better, you know, than admitting that those very people who were lauded as heroes tried to _murder_ two innocents, in the same way their very families were murdered!"

This time, the silence that fell was far more complete, as many of the younger students just _looked_ at him, mouths open in shock as they tried to process what they were hearing.

"That…that's…" Anthony Otterburn managed after some time. "That's…"

"Well, you don't have to believe me if you don't want to," Shinji said, with a tight little smile. "But you weren't there. You didn't see how in the aftermath, Fleur Delacour was afraid, not for her life, as much as of how she might be forced to hurt people if they came after her. You didn't see the things many of the Hogwarts students called her, the hateful looks they gave her – the fact that someone _released a troll_ in an attempt to kill her. You didn't see how vulnerable she was. How sad she was at the fates of her attackers."

As her self-appointed bodyguard, Shinji had spent hours – days – weeks, with the Champion of Beauxbatons, and had learned quite a bit about her. Naturally, the British press had twisted this into him being closely entangled with an avowed enemy of the country, with some pitying him for having been ensorcelled by the Veela, while others, citing his standing as a Stone Cutter and his remarkable abilities in the Dark Arts - including the beheading of a ghost and such back in his second year - think no ensorcellment was necessary, given his interest in exotic and powerful women, but the truth remained.

"But…why? Why would good people…?"

"Fear," came a response from an unexpected source, as Luna Lovegood spoke up. "Fear can twist even the best of us into monsters. Fear of others and fear of ourselves."

"Fear…of ourselves?" Ginny asked. "What do you mean?"

"Fear that we might have been too weak. Too slow to see the truth. Too slow to act. That we will be the architects of our own unmaking," Luna replied enigmatically. "It festers, grows, changes. Fear becomes anger, anger becomes hatred. We blame others for our deeds as we fan the flames, and tell ourselves we do what must be done, even when it isn't true."

"What does that…?"

"Miss Delcour was part-Veela. Viktor Krum was Bulgarian," the blonde Ravenclaw mused aloud. "In the minds of the others, that was enough to make them complicit in what happened this summer. Perhaps some feared they would finish what was started, and in fear, acted first."

"You think…Hufflepuffs were the ones to attack?" Heather replied in only a whisper. "But that's. Surely one of them would…" She trailed off. "Unless House loyalty meant…they didn't want to abandon their peers? Or didn't want to lose face in front of them?"

"Do you not feel loyalty to your peers?"

Heather opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, a strange, almost pained look on her face.

"…maybe not as much as I did before all this…business," she admitted. "I feel more at home with you and the rest of the Ourea, captain."

"I have not been your captain in over a year."

"Even so…" Heather said quietly. "What about you, though? You believe in…" the young Hufflepuff gestured at Shinji.

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because I've seen how he goes out of his way to help those who need it. Because I've seen how angry he gets at injustice." Luna smiled dreamily. "Because I can tell whenever he's lying to me. Or hiding things. He's too honest to be a good liar. And because even if his mouth says one thing, his body will say another."

Shinji jerked at Luna's last comment, flushing as the room turned its collective attention to him once more at his lover's…rather suggestive words.

Had she meant it that way? Had it just come out that way? He didn't know, but it did make him a bit uncomfortable.

"You don't believe the rumors about him and Miss Delacour then?" Ginny inquired, curious as to just how close their relationship was.

"No. I don't," the silver-eyed girl replied, taking a sip of tea. "I find that the _Prophet_ isn't very reliable when it comes to reporting on these sorts of things."

"…you don't trust my reporting, Lovegood?" Pansy quipped, mock outrage in her voice.

"It's not you I don't trust, just the editors," Luna replied amiably.

"Fair enough," the Assassin-in-training acknowledged with a quirk of her lips. Far be it from her to defend the editors of the _Prophet,_ after they had turned away from the quest for truth. Speaking of the truth though… "Say Matou," she said, turning to the boy in question. "How prepared are you for the upcoming Potions Championship, anyway? And what do you think your chances are?"

"Well…" Shinji began, as all eyes turned to him. "I've been working hard, experimenting with new brewing techniques and ingredients, with help from the _Book of Potions_ and Professor Slughorn. I think I'm about as prepared as can reasonably be expected, frankly. As for my chances…speaking off the record, I'm outclassed by most of my competitors."

"What do you mean?" Anthony Otterburn asked. "I've read Professor Slughorn's column on your opponents, but they don't seem to be too troublesome. Except for maybe Stukov and Lestrange."

"Lestrange, certainly…" the Boy from the East acknowledged, his lips twisting a bit. "I have the pleasure of being acquainted with her, and she's not one to be underestimated. Aside from the natural advantages that come from being a seventh year, and thus having had more time to learn and work with Potions, she seems to have inherited her family's…" He hesitated for a moment as he considered how to phrase this. "…talent and wealth of knowledge."

The fact that this knowledge was stored in her demonic blade, _Deuillegivre,_ which she had formed a contract with, was neither here nor there for the purposes of this conversation.

"She's better than you, then?" Colin asked bluntly.

"As far as the art of Potions in the West, certainly!" Shinji admitted. "Just as Sayjou Ayaka of _Mahoutokoro_ is my superior in Eastern potionlore." He smiled then. "But then, I think I'm the only one who knows some of both, so that's where I've concentrated my research. It is my aim to create something new for the Potions Championship, a masterpiece that blends the knowledge of East and West, transcending what either can do alone."

"…that's a pretty ambitious goal," Pansy noted, a touch of admiration in her voice. "But…have you made any progress towards meeting it?"

"Some," the Boy from the East said evasively.

"Do you have something to show us, then?" the brunette pressed.

"…not at this point in time," Shinji replied wryly. "You'll just have to wait for the Championship for me to unveil my masterpiece."

"Do you think it will be enough to win?" Ginny asked.

"Well, we'll just have to see, eh?"

The group returned to eating, helping themselves as heaping plates of fried chicken appeared on the table before them.

"Just something I thought you would appreciate, after all your training," Lockhart commented, when Shinji glanced at him. "After all, this is something of a traditional dish for the holidays, yes?"

"Well, for Christmas, but…thank you," Shinji murmured, inclining his head to the man.

He had some questions of his own for the group, and as they ate and talked, he learned of how things had been in his absence, including the greater focus on practical skills and how Lockhart had been testing the Ourea via a game called _Insurgency,_ in which they controlled a faction that sought to overthrow the Ministry of some fictional country.

"So, Luna is the most powerful unit in _Insurgency,_ huh?" he remarked, on being given the details of the allies each side could call on. The boy glanced over his fellow Stone Cutter, who for her part, seemed slightly amused. "And I draw the attention of everyone on the battlefield. Heh. I guess that's not too inaccurate. I wouldn't mind giving _Insurgency_ a try myself sometime."

"Do be careful who hears you saying such things," Lockhart cautioned. "With the political situation as it is, such a declaration might prove hazardous to your health."

"…ah, right." Shinji sighed heavily, some of his good mood fading as he realized that such was a consideration only he had to be concerned with. "I'll be more careful about that in the future."

"Speaking of the future, Matou, what are your plans?" the History Professor inquired. "The Potions Championship will be over soon enough, and your exemption from the ban on foreigners in Britain only extends through the period of the close of said event."

"Yes, I know," the Boy from the East admitted. "I do have other options though, in case I can't stay, but it isn't really about what I want, is it?"

"But it _is_. It's one thing to have options," Ginny broke in, not liking the Stone Cutter's evasiveness. "But what do you want to do? Do you even want to stay in Britain, after this year and everything that has happened? Or will you…"

She trailed off, though everyone knew what she meant.

"Maybe if I do well, I can get certain concessions for the Ministry, earn a few more freedoms," Shinji replied with a shrug. "As things stand right now though, I'm thinking about going home. At least there I'm not treated like a criminal and scoundrel. At least there, the people aren't so afraid that they lash out at anything at all which could hurt them. Don't misunderstand – I have many good memories here in Britain. I'm honored to have been a Stone Cutter and a Champion, but if the price of it is to be heaped with scorn just for being who I am, it's not worth it."

"But what about...?" Ginny glanced over at Luna meaningfully. "Are you just going to leave everything and everyone behind because things are getting difficult?" _'Including your lover?'_

"I hope it won't come to that," Shinji all but whispered, as Luna's hand found its way into his and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Like I said, it's not really my choice, and I'm still hopeful that maybe something can be worked out. But you know, Luna's right about fear and what it can do. This whole country is steeped in fear, and I don't see that changing any time soon, not without something else changing first."

"…I wish I could say you were wrong," Ginny answered, after taking a moment to digest the Champion's words.

"You know, so do I," the Boy from the East murmured sadly, as a more thoughtful silence fell, with the members of the Ourea turning once more to their meals.

* * *

Soon enough, the evening ended, with the other members of the Ourea filing out of the room after wishing the Professor and their guest a Happy New Year, until only Shinji and Luna remained.

"A most insightful evening, wouldn't you say, Matou?" Lockhart inquired solicitously. "I thought it would be useful to show my students the human side of the suffering the current policies embodied, and fortunately, you did a good enough job of that by telling them your story."

"Oh?"

"Here at Hogwarts, they only see so much, after all, and while I too am well-traveled, you are more of a peer than I," the History Professor explained.

"Well…that's true."

"Anyway, you mentioned wanting to know more about the Weasley family – Fred and Ron in particular?"

"Yes? But how you know about what's happening with them?" Shinji asked, somewhat puzzled at the Assassin's question.

"I know because Fred Weasley, at least, is at Hogwarts," the man revealed. "He and young Mister Malfoy were brought back to Britain some time ago – or at least their comatose bodies were. From what I have been able to gather, the two participated in something of a disastrous Capture the Flag match."

"Where…where are they?"

"They are being housed in two unused classrooms on the third floor, both of which have been converted into sickrooms," Lockhart told him, "the doors to which are guarded by Aurors."

"What's their condition?"

"Draco awakened on Christmas Day," the Assassin noted. "Fred, however, remains comatose."

Indeed, despite the best treatment that Wizarding Britain was capable of, with Healers working to restore his body as best they could, Fred had not yet awakened, and worse, his vitals worsened with each passing day, as he teetered on the line between life and death.

He'd remained on this side of it for now, but for how long?

Understandably, the Ministry had questions about how this state of affairs had come to pass, as there was no known spell capable of tearing through dragonhide robes and inducing a coma that a fourth year would know. Their working hypothesis was that Draco's wand had acted on its own in response to what it perceived as a threat to its master's life, as phoenix feather wands had occasionally been known to do, but as to how it had generated such an effect, no one had any idea.

"Why are you telling me this?" Shinji asked of his Mentor.

"Why, because I thought you would be interested in what has happened while you were gone," Lockhart replied gravely. "And I wished to give you an opportunity to act, if you so choose."

"To act, you say?" Shinji echoed. "What can I do? I'm no healer, and I doubt I'd be allowed to visit either of them. Even knowing they are here instead of at Durmstrang would probably get me in trouble."

"Sadly, I am somewhat tired, so I believe I will retire for the evening," the Assassin said, not bothering to answer the boy's question. "I will commend you on your accomplishment in finally being able to Flow-Walk though. A most intriguing skill, given that Hogwart's defenses do not protect against it."

And with that, Lockhart was gone.

' _Visit, huh…'_

"What do you think, Luna?" he asked of his companion. "We don't have too long – it is already the morning of the New Year in Japan, and we have plans for the day."

"We have at least a little bit of time. And besides, how you end the year is just as important as how you begin it, right?" she reasoned, her silver eyes somber and serious.

' _Fred, then_ , _I suppose. He was a comrade once, whereas Draco…'_

Well, Draco was already awake, and Shinji didn't want to have to answer any inconvenient questions from either him or the Aurors guarding his room, so the choice was obvious.

"I'll wait for you in the Room of Requirement then," Luna said, slipping out the door and leaving Matou Shinji entirely alone.

* * *

For most, arranging to visit either Draco or Fred would be something of a difficult task at best, given that for all that the Ministry refused to acknowledge that the two young men were currently at Hogwarts, the section of the school where they were being housed and treated was cordoned off, with some of Britain's precious supply of Aurors assigned to patrol the area, disillusioned and wary of any would be treachery or interference during the ongoing investigation.

Thus, if one wanted to visit either of them, one would have to find a way to sneak past the invisible patrols and enter the room, without detection - something that would be nearly impossible for most wizards to manage, given that the conventional methods of achieving invisibility would not do anything to prevent them from being detected by the _homenum revelio_ spell, or enchantments on the door which prevented any unauthorized person from walking across the threshold.

Of course, Matou Shinji was not most wizards, having means and ways that most in Britain could not begin to imagine.

Or rather, he had a loyal familiar who was capable of fairly incredible things, who could bypass any patrols or defenses while in spirit form, including the enchantments at the doorway and _homenum revelio_ , neither of which reacted to him given that he was not a person as the spell would define it.

Once inside, the _kodama_ set a single _ofuda_ on the ground and sent a signal through the mental connection he shared with his master. Mere moments later, Matou Shinji appeared soundlessly in the room, eyebrows raised faintly in surprise, as he hadn't been sure that the plan he'd come up with would work.

This _was_ the first time he was going across half a castle instead of merely across the span of a room, or moving underground a few meters.

 _'This technique is truly a powerful thing...'_ he mused. Previously, he'd simply thought of it as a movement ability that was invaluable in battle, but he'd never considered how it could be used for infiltration, unlike a certain Assassin...

He didn't have long though, so he turned his attention to the unconscious figure of Fred Weasley, who was laying on the room's only piece of furniture, a white, sterile bed that did not seem comfortable at all. Granted, he was not exactly well-versed in the healing arts, though he figured he would at least do what he could.

 _'Pants at them is what I am,'_ Shinji thought ruefully. _'Actually, now that I think about it Zelkova, would you mind looking Fred over? Perhaps you can see something the Healers have missed?'_

' _Certainly, Master_ ,' the _kodama_ replied, still invisible to all present. It took a minute, as Zelkova was not exactly an expert at human physiology, but as it happened, the issue didn't have to with Fred's flesh. ' _Ah, I see the problem, Master_.'

Zelkova's voice seemed grave over the mental link, which concerned Shinji, as his familiar was usually quite serene.

' _What is it?'_

 _'His spiritual core has been irreparably damaged, Master.'_

The Boy from the East blinked.

 _'...how?'_

 _'From the current situation, I believe that he was assaulted with a tremendous amount of yang prana that flooded - and shattered - his spiritual core, aside from the physical trauma it caused.'_

Shinji blinked again.

 _'What? But I thought that yang was healing energy?'_

...and that its main application in battle was to make a spell much more physically potent, not to induce spiritual damage, unlike the yin prana he was more than capable of drawing on.

 _'As one who studied magecraft, you should be aware of the dangers inherent in attempting to channel or hold prana in excess of one's capacity,'_ the _kodama_ explained.

'… _are you saying that is what happened here?'_

' _Yes. Only more serious than when it occurs in magi, given that Circuits are necessary for a human to survive and can simply be burned out. For those someone like you, Master, descended from_ youkai _, the organs which circulate and process prana are intertwined with the flesh. If a practitioner's spiritual core and vessels are damaged, they do not simply cease to function. Rather, magical energy spills from them in an uncontrolled fashion.'_

Under ordinary circumstances, such an overload was not possible, as practitioners of witchcraft did not generally have the capacity to draw on as much of the world's prana as a magus would – nor had the need to do so, given their higher efficiencies. However, this could be bypassed by a direct infusion of yang prana, which, while usually used to heal or to refill one's stores, could also be used to induce a destructive overload in another's prana circulation system, much as a scalpel could be used in the service of medicine - or assassination.

 _'...I see,'_ Shinji noted, taking in this information with a frown _. 'And is there anything we can do for Fred? I know neither of us are particularly adept at healing, but since this doesn't seem to be a matter of flesh, but spirit…'_

The kodama was silent for a long moment, with seconds dragging on into minutes, and Shinji starting to become concerned before his familiar spoke again.

 _'Well, there is one thing, Master,'_ the familiar related with obvious reluctance. ' _Though it is an option I do not particularly care for._ '

 _'Oh? And what might that be?'_ Shinji inquired, wondering what it was that had Zelkova so unsettled.

' _Sealing away his spiritual core, so that no further prana flows into his spiritual channels.'_

' _What.'_ To say that Matou Shinji was shocked would have been an understatement. _'You…can do that?'_

' _We could – in fusion,'_ Zelkova admitted. _'Your yin prana is particularly adept at destruction and sealing, and while you do not have the skill to use it for such a delicate purpose, I could supply the knowledge that would allow you to perform the operation, if you wish. But…'_

' _But what…?'_

' _If you do this, Master, he will be left without any magic at all – without any possibility of regaining his magic, or passing it on to future generations,'_ Zelkova noted. _'Such a thing is irreversible, and to someone who has been part of a world of magic for his entire life, likely worse than death.'_

Fred Weasley, who had prided himself on his cleverness and his magical might, would be left a muggle.

Helpless, powerless, alone.

 _'...I'm not sure I like that option,'_ Shinji admitted, his lips curving into a frown. _'Is there anything else we could do for him? Anything less...unpleasant?'_

' _You could grant him the mercy of a quick and painless death,'_ was the simple reply. _'Using yin prana, it would be simple enough to sever the connection between his soul and his body, freeing him from his prison of flesh and allowing him to pass on to the Other Side of the World.'_

 _'How is that the_ less _unpleasant alternative?'_ Shinji questioned incredulously. How could it be that his familiar thought _killing_ Fred was preferable to saving him, albeit in a reduced form?

And was there no other choice besides ending Fred's life himself or taking away the boy's magic, leaving his former friend broken?

' _...as I would have been broken, had the Hogwarts letter not come in the moment of my despair.'_

Only worse, as Fred Weasley would have known of magic, would have remembered being a practitioner of the arcane arts, compared to a boy who had never had any potential for magecraft in the first place.

 _'From what I have seen of Fred Weasley, he would fall into despair without his power,'_ Zelkova commented patiently, echoing Shinji's own thoughts. _'His nature as a wizard - a practitioner of witchcraft - is central to who and what he is. If you took that from him, he might wake, yes, but I do not think his mind would ever fully recover from the shock of losing everything that he is.'_

 _'You mean...?'_

 _'That there are risks, Master. He may go mad, or take his own life, even should you seek to spare it.'_

 _'...I'm starting to think I should just leave him here and let nature take its course,'_ Shinji grumbled, shaking his head. _'There really are no good options here, are there?'_

 _'No,'_ Zelkova replied. ' _That is sometimes the way of things. Still, the decision is yours, Master. What will you choose? Will you simply walk away? Or—'_

' _No,'_ Shinji said. _'I can't do that. Not when there's something I can do.'_

' _Then let us fuse, Master, and make your choice.'_

And so Matou Shinji did, knowing that he would never be able to take it back.

' _I'm sorry, Fred.'_


	63. Ashes to Ashes

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 63.** _Ashes to Ashes_

After the emotional ordeal of dealing with Fred, Matou Shinji found it a comfort to be away from Hogwarts altogether, as he stepped out of the Vanishing Cabinet in his former Master's workshop into _Mahoutokoro_ , with Luna following behind him. The fact that this city – this subterranean _world_ – where human and _youkai_ lived as one, where magic was alive, existed just beneath Kyoto, never ceased to amaze him.

Coming here had been his first introduction to life as a practitioner of witchcraft, after all, with nothing in Wizarding Britain coming close to matching the spectacle and grandeur of the City Beneath the Earth.

' _Well, the Room of Requirement in Hogwarts Castle is_ _impressive, I suppose, but the City is on a whole other level…'_

"It's very different here," Luna murmured, noting how those out on the streets for _hatsumode_ , the first shrine visit of the year, were dressed as she was – in a traditional _kimono._ Hers was a rich midnight blue with a patterning of falling stars, complementing her blonde hair nicely. "The people here – they're not afraid. They don't wonder when the inevitable will come, and everything they know will be lost."

"…are the people of Hogwarts really that afraid?" Shinji questioned, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, I'm not there all that often, and when I do, I only interact with Slughorn or Lockhart most of the time, so…"

"They are, even if they try to hide it," Luna noted quietly, glancing up at her companion with wide silver eyes. "Even some of the ghosts."

"The…ghosts, you say," Shinji repeated, remembering all too well how Myrtle had seemed utterly terrified of him, calling him a necromancer, of all things. If she'd said something to one of the others, or had told the Aurors of his alleged…skills, things could get…unpleasant for him.

"Mm. The Grey Lady mentioned that Myrtle seemed panicked these last few days," the petite blonde commented. "That she thought you were going to destroy her soul. Were you?"

"…no. I was just annoyed after she…" the boy trailed off, sighing. "After she came onto me. As if just because I had become a spirit, I was going to be hers. I get that she's lonely, and that there isn't anyone her age, but, that's no excuse…"

"The Grey Lady told her the same thing," Luna noted gravely. "I do wish there was something we could do for her though."

"You know the funny thing is, if I _was_ a necromancer, I might be able to help her," Shinji replied, shaking his head.

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, in the event that I, or I guess, Sajyou-san, if the spirit potion I created doesn't impress him" – and there was a good chance it wouldn't, since required the use of _Felix Felicis_ as an ingredient – "become World Champion, then the spirit of Zygmunt Budge will move on, departing the _Book of Potions._ " He smiled wanly. "Of course, if that happens, the _Book of Potions_ will cease to be the powerful tool it is today, becoming a normal book."

"Like the first edition of the _Book of Charms_ or…?"

"Like a normal potions textbook," Shinji corrected, his lips twisting into a wry expression. "The _Book of Charms_ that Lockhart uses gets its abilities from the powerful enchantments laid down by its creator. The _Book of Potions,_ on the other hand, has the properties it does because Budge bound his soul to it. It seems almost a shame that it would lose its magic when Budge passes on, but that's how it is."

"And if you were a necromancer, you'd avoid that by binding one of the ghosts of Hogwarts to the tome?" Luna questioned, her eyebrows rising towards her hair.

"Well, only if they agreed," Shinji remarked. "It wouldn't be right if I did were to do that against a spirit's will, would it? Though well, I'm not, so, the point is moot."

"Could you though, in fusion form?" Luna questioned.

Shinji opened his mouth to deny that he could, but ended up saying nothing, his jaw closing with a _click._

"…I don't know, actually," the boy admitted. "Up earlier today, I wouldn't have known I had the ability to seal away someone's magic either, so I think there's still a lot about fusion I don't quite grasp. In that respect, you're a bit ahead of me, since you spend so much of your time in fusion form."

"Mm. It's nice not to be alone, is all."

The young potioneer felt a pang of guilt that he hadn't been able to spend as much time with Luna as he'd wanted to this year, but it wasn't really his fault, was it? With his responsibilities as Potions Champion, and the things he'd found himself involved in at Durmstrang, it simply hadn't been practical for him to be at Hogwarts as much as in years past…

' _But that's why I'm bringing her to_ Mahoutokoro, _so we can spend New Year's Day together,_ ' he told himself. _'I think she'll enjoy meeting the Fujous_ , _and seeing more of Japan.'_

He found himself wondering what she would think of their evening plans in Osaka, as the Fujous had arranged for them to have a place among the 10,000-person strong Number Nine Chorus, as they put on the largest performance of _Ode to Joy_ in the world, as they did every year.

Though Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, or _daiku_ , as it was called in Japan, was certainly not a Japanese song, singing it at the end of the year was a uniquely Japanese tradition which had begun sometime after World War I, when German soldiers being held as prisoners in Japan staged the very first performance of _Ode to Joy_ there.

Here and there, groups would put on performances towards the end of the year – though none were ever quite as grand as the Number Nine Chorus.

' _Speaking of which, I wonder if that's how the King of Heroes_ _knew the song? If he attended a performance or such. And for that matter, I wonder who his Master was. Maybe Emiya Kiritsugu?'_

The man had survived the last Grail War, after all.

That didn't seem quite right, however, since if Emiya Kiritsugu had been able to maintain a Servant after the War, Shinji didn't think he would have left his daughter in the clutches of the Einzbern.

Perhaps...Waver Velvet, the man now known as Lord El-Melloi II?

No, that didn't seem right either.

' _Well, I doubt I'll figure it out today, so why don't we leave it a mystery for now.'_

"Well then, let's be off," he said to his companion. "We do need to meet with the Fujous for Hatsumode before we do anything else."

"Mm, and it is a long walk to the portal to the outside world, isn't it?"

"Well about that…" Shinji quipped, his lips curving into a smile. "I want to show you something."

* * *

 _Something_ turned out to be what _Mahoutokoro_ had in place of a more conventional public transportation system: warp points, nexuses of force that were scattered about the geofront, which would catapult authorized users towards certain preset destinations.

' _One just has to be approved by the spirit of the tree, and the impressions of those who came before, as I was. Or Luna or her father, since they were long-term visitors, though I don't think they ever took the network about.'_

There was something magical about being hurled through the air – to flying towards one's destination, propelled by an unseen force as one was held aloft by a current of magic, he reflected, as he and his companion touched down on the great ledge overlooking the city of _Mahoutokoro_.

"How was that?" Shinji asked. "It's nice to fly, with only the wind beneath you, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Luna murmured wistfully, with Shinji remembering all too late that in fusion form, his lover was already capable of unassisted flight. "Thank you for sharing that with me. I didn't know the City had this in place, and it's quite a bit faster than I could manage alone."

"You're welcome," Shinji responded warmly, even as he looked towards the portal and noted that the Fujou party was already there. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long," he called out, as he came up to them.

The entire family was present, with Fujou Shiroe standing tall in a black and copper kimono that offset the warmth of his eyes, Fujou Kirie in a formal _furisode_ of a pink so pale it was almost white, accented by a rich blue obi, Fujou Hisui and Fujou Kohaku – the twins from the branch family – wearing plainer grey kimonos, and….

'… _a foreigner?'_

…a mysterious blonde with piercing green eyes, wearing a _furisode_ of lilac, lavender and blue, who was looking over him and Luna in a manner that reminded him of Gilderoy Lockhart.

 _'Is she trying to see if I'm a threat...? Of if Luna is…?'_

Before his thoughts could reach a more worrisome place though, Fujou Kirie responded.

"Not at all, Matou Shinji," the raven-haired woman responded politely. "We only just arrived ourselves. I believe you know my brother, and my cousins?"

"I do indeed," the practitioner of witchcraft acknowledged, dipping his head deferentially to her. She seemed quite a bit healthier now, but then, he supposed that taking a dose of the Water of Life would do that. "You know me of course, but I would like to introduce you to Luna Lovegood."

"Ah, your _shiroi koibito,"_ Fujou Shiroe spoke up, his golden-brown eyes glinting with amusement as the young clan head stepped forward and bowed to the petite blonde. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he said. But the boy frowned as he straightened. "Ah, I forgot to ask, do you understand Japanese?"

"I do," Luna replied, the vague after-echo of a tail shimmering into half-existence for a moment, before vanishing again. "Thanks to Pandora."

"A westerner using fusion to that degree…" Shiroe murmured, his eyebrows rising despite himself. "How unexpected."

"Luna is…quite talented at it," Shinji admitted with a look of chagrin. "More so than me, actually."

"Is that so?" the young Fujou head asked. "I'm surprised you would admit that."

"It is the truth, after all," the Potions Champion of Hogwarts said mildly. "That said, won't you introduce me to your mystery guest?" he asked, glancing over at the other kimono-clad blonde. "Or will I have to think of her as Mysterious Heroine X?"

Given that she was here in _Mahoutokoro,_ Shinji thought it quite likely she was a magus or practitioner of some sort, possibly from the Americas, though why she would be spending New Year with the Fujou family…

'… _don't tell me Shiroe has a taste for petite blondes? Did he meet her in the past few months? Or perhaps this is his long-lost fiancée, who he met as a child, but forgot about due to the events after the War?'_

She seemed a bit more mature than Shiroe though, so…

"She is my esteemed sister's guest, actually," the Fujou head corrected, interrupting Shinji's increasingly torrid line of thought as he turned to an amused-looking Fujou Kirie. "Sister, if you would?"

"Of course, Shiroe," the older woman responded. "Matou Shinji, Luna Lovegood, I would like you to meet Āsā Drake, a skilled swordwoman from the west who has been working with our family, training Kohaku in the art of the blade. Āsā, this is Matou Shinji – the benefactor I spoke of, who healed me of my illness, and his lover, Luna Lovegod. "

"A pleasure to meet you," Shinji murmured, with a bow to the swordwoman. "Though…Drake, you say? Any relation to Sir Francis?"

"Not that I am aware of," the woman replied coolly, her green eyes lingering for a moment on his covered shoulder. "I would like to believe that my deeds matter more than my relations, however, child of the Makiri."

Her ancestry would have been difficult to prove either way, since the records of the Drakes from before the time of the great Privateer were not exactly comprehensive, and Sir Francis himself had left no direct descendants.

"...I only ask that you give me the same consideration, Drake-san," Shinji replied mildly. "The Makiri family is dead, and even if it wasn't, I was cast from it for the choices I made."

"I see," the blonde noted. "But you _are_ something like a magus?"

"A practitioner of witchcraft and _onmyouji,_ to be precise, as is my companion," the blue-haired boy replied. "Of late, I hail from Britain, where I have the honor of serving as Potions Champion of Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts," the swordswoman repeated, with no trace of recognition. "Is that a city or…?

"Ah, you haven't heard of it?" Shinji asked, frowning. "It is a school for practitioners of witchcraft. The finest such in Britain. I take it you are not a practitioner yourself, then? Perhaps you are a magus?"

"I have – had – a sister who was quite a powerful magus, but no, I am not one myself – or a practitioner, for that matter," the swordswoman answered, her expression unreadable. "I do have certain skills and abilities from that side of things, but I think of myself more as a knight than a caster."

"Fair enough," Shinji allowed. "I'm something like a knight myself, in Britain. And well," he stage-whispered conspiratorially, "the French style me as a modern Lancelot."

Āsā Drake apparently did not see the humor in his remark, as her face went blank, her body visibly stiffening.

"…they style you Lancelot, do they?" she asked. There was something hidden in that query, something almost dangerous, though Shinji didn't quite pick up on it.

Luna however, did.

"They do, for his gallantry," the younger Stone Cutter replied for him, her silver eyes curious and inquisitive as she looked upon the other blonde. "He protected the life and honor of the beautiful Fleur Delacour, the Champion of Beauxbatons, even though it cost him much of his standing with Britain."

"I…see," the swordwoman noted, her expression thoughtful. "And you do not mind his allegiance to another? You are his companion, after all, if I am not mistaken."

"Matou will do as he wishes," Luna said quietly. "He has always been that way."

"And…?"

"And as long as he returns to me in the end, I am satisfied," the blonde Ravenclaw noted, closing her eyes. "Before I met him, I was alone, except for the ghosts of the past, trapped in a world that others could not reach. Can I truly be unhappy if he helps others as he helped me?"

"An unusual outlook, but understandable."

"You are unusual yourself, my lady," Luna murmured, her eyes opening wide as she curtsied. When she rose, it was to offer the other a single white lily, which she had just conjured. "Your blood sings of mysteries long past. A knight you may be, but you are more than simply that…"

Luna's eyes seemed fixed on a point above the other blonde's shoulder, where a sword might be slung if she was wearing one.

"…you are truly not quite human, are you, Miss Lovegood?" Āsā Drake inquired, taking the lily and weaving it into her hair.

"Part-kitsune at present," Luna admitted quietly. "But then, I think I made that clear enough."

"Yes well, I was surprised. I did not know that Britain condoned such practices," Asa Drake noted wryly. "Fusing a human with something of a phantasmal species is not…common, to say the least."

"Actually, she obtained her familiar here," Shinji corrected, "though Luna is quite unusual for someone from Britain – and I mean that in the best possible way."

"Modesty, Matou? It doesn't quite suit you," Fujou Shiroe interjected, shaking his head. "In any case, shall we talk as we walk, perhaps? The Fushimi Inari Shrine may not be far from here, but it is certain to be crowded."

"That would be wise," Luna agreed. "Please, lead on."

* * *

On the walk over, the group divided itself into smaller clusters out of necessity, with Fujou Shiroe walking next to the swordswoman from the west, Luna walking with Fujou Kohaku and her twin sister, and Matou Shinji finding himself accompanying the lovely Fujou Kirie.

"Once more, I would like to thank you for your generosity to our family, Matou Shinji," the raven-haired woman noted quietly. "You have done much for us, restoring my brother to his rightful place, and me to good health, at great cost to yourself."

"…you are aware of the circumstances of my departure from the Matou, then?" the boy asked, going still as the raven-haired beauty's words sank in.

"I am," came the reply, as Fujou Kirie paused and turned her gaze upon him. "And neither I, nor the clan as a whole, are ungrateful for what you have done. Traditionally, as you have lost a place among your family, we would welcome you into ours, but I suspect you prefer to build a name for yourself."

"I do."

"Then should you find yourself in need of aid, we are at your service," Kirie said gravely. "Though we cannot promise that will amount to much, should you remain in Britain."

"…yes well, about that."

"Yes?" the former clan head asked, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"I think my plans will likely see me elsewhere when all is said and done," Shinji replied quietly. "Britain has given me much, but…it is not where I plan to settle, especially not if things continue the way they are going."

"You will be cast out once more for helping another?" Fujou Kirie conjectured, recalling his comments about being a modern-day Lancelot.

"…it isn't out of the question, no."

"I see," the raven-haired woman noted simply. "And is there anything the Fujou family may do to ease any difficulties you face in times to come?"

Shinji blinked.

It was true that if he came to Japan, the resources and connections of the Fujou family could be quite helpful to him if he wished to establish himself, but that was perhaps premature.

And more to the point…he already had a patron.

One he was loyal to above all, and one who was as powerful as he could ask for, and who would no doubt have a place for him.

"That's a generous offer, but…I don't think that will be necessary, no."

Though…there _was_ someone who was very much alone, someone who looked to _him_ as a patron, and who had left her home for him.

Tohsaka Rin.

"Actually…would it be possible for you to help another in my stead?" he inquired, meeting the eyes of the woman who he had restored to health.

"Another young woman, perhaps, aside from your _shiroi koibito_?" Fujou Kirie questioned sharply, as Shinji winced.

"…well, yes," Shinji admitted. "But it's not…it's not what you think."

"Then explain, if you will, Matou Shinji. I would not have such a favor used frivolously."

"It's not frivolous. Or at least, I don't think so. It's about Tohsaka – Tohsaka Rin."

"The Second Owner of Fuyuki, who has abandoned her city?" Fujou Kirie said by way of confirmation. "Who, if rumor serves, cohabits with you?"

"…she used to live in the house I bought in London, yes, but that's hardly co-habitation," Shinji protested. "I'm usually up in Scotland, and…and the point is, I've basically become her patron, though I'm not in a position where I can help her grow as a magus and as a person."

"And you wish for us to help her?"

"I think it would do her a world of good to be introduced to new places and ideas," the would-be _onmyouji_ sighed. "I think she may be coming back to Fuyuki in the next few days, so if one of you could meet her there and possibly invite her to the city…"

"You do realize the risks of that, given the Tohsaka family's history with the Church?"

"…she's not really a Christian, or that closely aligned to the Church," Shinji insisted. "I know for a fact that she isn't fond of the priest who became her guardian after the death of her father."

"Even so. _Mahoutokoro_ has not survived as long as it has by taking needless risks. Just as you may not if you do not have a care for the attention you draw to yourself through the choices you make."

"…it's true, but to be honest – these last few years – finding people who care about me, finding a place for myself, becoming powerful my own right, it's all that I could ask," the boy replied. He shook his head. "Look – I'm going to be participating in the World Potions Championship, and given how dangerous it is, there's a good chance I might not survive. Not if the people I'm up against are anything like Sajyou-san."

"Yes, Kaiduka-dono's apprentice is quite formidable, but that is the standard for Champions, at least in _Mahoutokoro_ ," Fujou Kirie noted. "But I begin to see now. You wish for us to become Tohsaka Rin's patrons should you no longer be able to do so?"

"That's about the long and the short of it," Shinji admitted. "Last time, when she thought I died, she nearly fell apart. No…she _did_ fall apart. If I actually die, I don't want her to do something…rash."

"…I understand."

"Then, you will…?"

"Against my better judgement, I suppose so," the raven-haired woman agreed. "You are an unusual boy, Matou Shinji. Most would take what we offer for themselves, but you…"

"It's not that I'm a good person," Shinji corrected, shaking his head. "It's just - I have a patron. And aside from my former Master, Tohsaka has no one. So…it falls to me to help her. Or to find some way to help her, if I no longer can."

"At the very least, you are responsible, and _that_ I can respect. I am surprised that you do not ask about your companion, however?"

"…that will be my request for the maiden."

"Oh?"

"Should I fall, and should I lose my place – she may suffer as well. I want to be sure she, and the others I've touched, have a place they can go, if need be."

"You do not think much of yourself, do you, Matou Shinji, even after all you have done?"

"Everything I've done that's worth anything has been for the sake of another. And most of what I have been able to do is because of the help _of_ others, whether my patron, my master, or those who walked with me. My life, in and of itself, isn't really worth much, though I won't admit that to most people."

"So why tell me?"

"Because it wouldn't be right for you to offer me your patronage based on a misunderstanding," the boy said softly. "You – like my other patron, like Luna – deserve better."

"You honor me by saying so," the older woman noted with something like smile crossing her lips as she, inclined her head. "Thank you."

* * *

Luna's conversation with Fujou Kohaku and Fujou Hisui was quite a bit more varied, with their discussion covering topics from game hardware, to painting, to what it was like to travel the world and see strange new lands.

"Stepping into a new place, breathing its air, meeting its people and the other creatures that live there – it's magical."

"I would not know," Kohaku replied, her usual smile absent. "I've never been outside of Japan, though I do play games like _Final Fantasy_ to explore other worlds."

"Oh?"

"Playing games is like looking through a window into the lives of other people, into their stories and adventures. Into their emotions, and how they feel," the amber-eyed redhead murmured. "Being happy because they succeed, being sad if they fail, feeling angry when they are betrayed or ambushed, and more."

"Nee-san…" Hisui whispered sadly, glancing at her twin.

"Do you have a favorite character?" Luna continued, genuinely curious.

"Gilgamesh," Kohaku replied at once. "Someone thrown from world to world, looking for something which will give him something to live for. Someone whose actions make him seem like a villain, but who really isn't bad at heart."

"I see."

"Do you have a favorite character, Lovegood-san?"

"The Little Prince."

They talked for a time of various things, with Hisui mentioning that she found the protagonist of Dorian Grey interesting, of all things, and Kohaku adding, almost as an afterthought, that it was Britain was not allowing mail to be sent from abroad, as she has a few letters she wanted to pass on.

"Oh, for George?" Luna asked. "Would you like to know how he is doing?"

"…I wouldn't mind."


	64. Interlude: The Balance of Terror

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Interlude.** _The Balance of Terror_

Two figures stood in a darkened room, the only sources of illumination being the amber light emanating from a jewel resting in the cupped palm of a pale and sweating Tohsaka Rin – and the glowing embers at the end of Aozaki Touko's cheap cigarette.

"This…is difficult," the young magus managed to say, her voice and breathing labored as the gem's glow grew brighter, more intense – then darkened to its previous level.

"But necessary," the other spoke, as she took a long drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke in her apprentice's face. "Control is important for a magus, after all." Her lips curved up ever so slightly as she looked at her young apprentice. "And just think, once you manage to keep up a steady light, you'll be able to do with some effort what Matou can do with barely a thought."

The glow of the gemstone flickered once more, blazing nearly sun-bright, then almost going out entirely, then returning to the dim amber it had been before as Tohsaka Rin fought to contain her annoyance at her Master's jibes. If she failed, if she let the puppeteer's words get to her, then what little control she had over the gem in her hand would slip entirely, and it would explode – while in her hand.

The results, as she had learned from the last time the puppeteer had forced her to act as a glorified lightbulb, were distinctly…unpleasant.

"Alas, for someone who is able to produce light on demand, Matou Shinji is sometimes a rather dim bulb," Touko remarked idly, as Rin twitched at the boy's name. "After all, he managed to anger the Einzbern, bringing their wrath down upon his family. You know this, of course, because in that attack your…sister died."

What had happened in Fuyuki wasn't anything new to the Second Owner of Fuyuki, so she tried to put such things out of mind, despite her wondering from time to time if she could have done anything to stop it, if she had been there. If her absence, her desire to join Matou in London, had contributed to the Einzbern being able to enact their vengeance for whatever Matou had done…

"Of course, the official story is that his grandfather killed him, but you and I both know that isn't true," the puppeteer noted, with Rin nodding. "Alas, as his former Master, I have to say that his actions in provoking all and sundry were perhaps not wise."

"His actions?"

"Matou was always curious about things he perhaps had no business being curious about, and a bit over-confident about his charms."

"That's—that's not…"

"He is also none too concerned about the personal space of others, for all that he values his privacy. So in the course of his investigations, when he grew suspicious of a strange young woman with white hair and red eyes, and decided to trail her, thinking perhaps she was an Einzbern, well…"

Aozaki Touko trailed off meaningfully, but the Tohsaka heiress only frowned.

"Well, what…?" she all but demanded.

"I don't have to spell it out, do I?" the puppeteer asked with a hint of amusement. "One does not simply stalk a magus, whether or not one is magically disguised or not, much less follow them to their inner sanctum, and attempt to lure them out under false pretenses. People tend to misinterpret that sort of thing. Do see to it that you don't make any mistakes like that Tohsaka, or..."

"...or what?"

 **"Or you'll die. Just like that little blue-haired brat."**

For several long seconds, there was no reaction, with only silence reigning in the wake of those words – those all too terrible words, but—

"WHAT?!" Tohsaka shouted. Sadly, her verbal explosion – and lapse in concentration – was quickly followed by rather more literal one, as the gem in her hands lost cohesion, and with a tremendous _whump-BOOM_ , the room was plunged into darkness.

How long it lingered, no one could really say, though eventually the elder magus grew tired of simply standing around and, with a sigh, drew some runes in the air with the smoldering end of her cigarette, their glowing shapes cutting through the gloom to reveal her student on her knees, her body shaking visibly as she clutched a bloody, mangled hand.

"You really need to work on your control," the puppeteer observed, even as Rin was doing exactly that, as demonstrated by how she was trying desperately not to whimper.

It took a great deal of effort to say something - anything - without betraying how much she hurt, how much Touko's words had wounded her, but she managed. Or she thought so, anyway.

Somehow.

"What? " Tohsaka asked haltingly. She knew that to speak up, to make her inquiry, was to reveal a fatal weakness to the human-shaped monster who called herself her Master. And yet...and yet, she had to know. " Do you mean...?" She paused, swallowing. "Did Matou really...?"

"No, he's not dead, though not for want of trying," Touko replied with a faint smirk. "The events I mentioned just now – they never happened, though I wouldn't put it past him to indulge in such…risk."

"You...you…"

"Still, you do realize that he'll never be yours, right?" Touko inquired mildly, taking a long drag of her cigarette. "Even if he's alive. Even if he's mostly in one piece after his many ordeals. That there will always be someone else, something else he's looking at. That in the end, you'll only ever be his Unlucky Childhood Friend?"

"That's...no...he..."

"No, he's not sleeping with Kyrielight, if you were curious," the puppeteer noted frankly. "Even though you know deep inside you that you wouldn't mind if he were - as long as he invited you to join them. As long as he gave you even the smallest scrap of attention."

Rin flinched as Touko's gaze seemed to see through her, see through every façade she'd put up, every desperate defense into the core of what she was, into every hidden truth, laying everything bare.

"After all, _that_ 's what you want, isn't it?" she asked meaningfully.

The Tohsaka heiress said nothing, but the tremors in her body were enough to see that she'd heard her Master's words.

"Yes. That _is_ what you crave, isn't it?" Touko continued in a rather reasonable tone, though the gleam in her hard eyes told a different story.

"I—"

"Acknowledgement," the puppeteer cut off the protests the girl was beginning to muster. In truth, her student was fun to tease from time to time, but she had a long way to go as a magus. Or even as a person able to stand on her own two feet, despite all the advantages she had been given simply because of who she was. "Recognition. Love. All the things you lacked after your father...died."

An involuntary sound – a cross between a snarl, a sob, and a strangled wail – tore from Tohsaka's throat as Touko kept talking, the pain inflicted by the elder magus' words drowning out that of the merely physical wounds she'd suffered due to her inattentiveness.

"Perhaps Matou Shinji gave you those things, when it was convenient for him, but in his mind, you were only ever an afterthought. Just like in Kyrielight's mind, you were only ever a burden. Someone she had to attend to because you lived in the house, and Matou was her employer."

"No. That's..."

Aozaki Touko laughed - a cold callous sound that made Tohsaka shudder. What kind of monster...? No...she knew very well what kind of monster her Master was, as it was the very kind she wanted to be.

A perfect magus.

"Search your feelings, Tohsaka Rin. You know it to be true," the puppeteer said blandly. "Neither of them need you, you know? Oh, they could use you, find a place for you, fit you into their plans, but they don't need you. And that, I think, is why you are so fixated on them, because you know they don't – and yet they were...friendly to you. Showed you that even on a stage far grander than the small town you grew up in, you mattered. And so you came to hunger for the scraps they gave you, seeking their attention, their affection and more. So you hope, you dream, you _beg._ "

"That's..."

"So Matou gave you riches. So Kyrielight cooked for you and tended you when you were unwell," Touko simply kept talking, as if her apprentice had not tried to speak. "Do you think either of them did that because they were kind? No – Matou does it because it proves to him how much better than you he is, to rub your face in his success. Kyrielight does it because there would be inconvenient questions if you were to starve. Certainly, neither of them have any great attachment to you – which was why they sent you to me."

"No!" Tohsaka shouted, every nerve in her body screaming as she surged to her feet, before her legs collapsed from under her under the weight of Aozaki Touko's killing intent. She…if she fought Aozaki Touko, this monster in human shape, if she defied her… _'I'd die.'_

That was a truth that Tohsaka Rin knew all too well, and despite what the puppeteer might say, she was no fool.

"That's...that's..." she tried to summon the words to refute the monster's arguments, but her tongue betrayed her, for they wouldn't come.

"A lie?" the puppeteer suggested with a grim chuckle. "Perhaps, girl, and perhaps not. Either way, the whereabouts of Matou and whether or not he has some room for you in his heart isn't what's important right now. What is important is how easily I was able to shake your concentration, despite you _knowing_ that such a slip could lead to very…painful consequences. If you allow yourself to become so distracted, to become fixated on inconsequential tidbits dangled before you, to forget the circumstances and the context in which you act, then no matter how strong you are, no matter what you may one day capable of, you will never amount to anything."

As she said this last, Aozaki Touko _smiled_. It was an unpleasant, almost predatory expression, one that held little mirth in it whatsoever, only the promise of terrible things.

"Because before you achieve whatever fate life might have had in store for you, Tohsaka Rin, you will die," the puppeteer said with finality. "Reflect on this, for you may not get another chance."

The runes winked out, after that, and soon after, the puppeteer departed, the sound of her footsteps echoing in the gloom, leaving the last Tohsaka alone in the darkness, alone with her worries, alone with her grief, alone with her fears.


	65. Threshold

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 64.** _Threshold_

Kotomine Kirei was a man of many contradictions. On one hand, he was a devout, dedicated servant of God, a priest whose faith granted him great power when dealing with unruly spirits, who willingly abstained from the pleasures of the world, and diligently ministered to his flock, telling them the hard truths they needed to hear if they wished to truly be saved. On the other, he was a monster whose only joy was found in suffering – something he had known all his life, but had only come to accept in Fuyuki, as a result of two notable incidents.

First, of course, he had discovered a sense of pleasure in his own suffering after tasting the Mapo Tofu from Fuyuki's Hongzhou Feast Hall: Taishan, a dish so spicy that most could not bear a single bite.

(The version Tohsaka Rin had learned to make was a pale imitation in comparison to this masterwork, as it simply was not spicy enough to touch his heart. Her efforts came close, but it was never close enough to truly satisfy him – though there was a joy even in that, given the deliciousness of her frustration at her continued failure to glean a single word of praise from him.)

Everything else, be it the sweetest of wines, the most savoury of delicacies, or the lightest and daintiest of morsels, was as ashes in his mouth, with the man only resigning himself to eating as he needed sustenance if he was to survive.

And then, there had been the Fuyuki Fire, the great incident that had destroyed so many lives and so at the end of the Fourth Holy Grail War – a calamity brought about by his wish for an end to humanity.

Sadly, the Grail had been destroyed before it could fully grant his wish, but the agony of the people around him, and the corruption that flowed into him, twisting his flesh to match his spirit, had finally let him accept who he really was.

A monster.

Coming to terms with his nature had finally brought him a sense of peace, as it meant that he could indulge his desires in a thousand different ways. Tormenting Tokiomi's daughter was one, as was some of the work he did for the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament, but most enjoyable was conducting the vigil mass on New Year's Eve, given that with a very small amount of effort, he could ruin the years of so many, leaving his parishioners sorry to have been born, even as he offered up good advice.

But he had not been able to partake of such this year, as the Church – or rather – the Cardinal who oversaw the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament, had summoned him to Rome, though the missive had come rather circuitously through the office of His Eminence Achille Cardinal Silvestrini, Prefect of the Congregation for the Oriental Churches.

' _What does the 120_ _th_ _Cardinal wish of me, I wonder?'_

Had the Church finally discovered his twisted nature? Had they learned of his corruption in the aftermath of the Fourth War, and of his personal responsibility in the Fuyuki incident?

…had they discovered what had become of the orphans he had taken in, and decided that there were limits to what horrors even a lapsed Executor was permitted?

Kotomine Kirei did not know, as the Cardinal had not seen fit to explain _why_ he had been summoned, giving only a time and a place for him to be present.

And however great a monster the priest might be, whatever he thought the Church's intent or designs, he knew it would be…unwise to refuse the man in charge of the Executors, given that if he did, the Assembly might be mobilized against him, and against those sorts of numbers, even he would fall.

Which was why, on first day of the New Year, the Japanese priest was not giving a sermon to his congregation in Fuyuki, but standing before a non-descript door in Rome, or rather, in Vatican City, waiting for the appointed time.

At the very second specified on the missive, the door opened silently, with a young Spaniard with shoulder-length, wavy hair and a rather dashing eyepatch, wearing the robes of a simple priest, emerging from within.

' _A fellow Executor, I would presume, though I do not recognize his face.'_

Then again, he had not been in Rome for a very long time, so he supposed this was to be expected.

"Father Kotomine, I presume?" the man spoke, his voice smooth and utterly calm.

Kotomine Kirei inclined his head.

"His Eminence will see you now," the young Spaniard continued, stepping out of the room completely and gesturing for the other to enter.

The Japanese priest did so, stepping into a relatively spartan office where his ultimate superior as a member of the Eighth Sacrament awaited, a grim-faced African whose coal-black skin was a near match for the color of his cassock, though this was offset by the scarlet piping and buttons on it, his scarlet fascia, and a scarlet zucchetto.

' _Indeed, it is the Cardinal, but this is not the Cardinal's office. It is too…plain, and in the wrong part of the Vatican,'_ Kirei observed, noting the lack of ornamentation anywhere about the room. _'Perhaps the Spaniard's?'_

A curious detail in and of itself, really.

With a quiet _click,_ the door closed behind him, with Kotomine raising an eyebrow at the fact that the other had chosen to remain outside, leaving him alone with the Cardinal.

' _Hm. Not a disciplinary hearing, then? Or a Commission of Inquiry, given that those would involve more individuals, and require more equipment than a simple room,'_ he mused. ' _At the least, one other Executor should be present with the Cardinal, or his personal secretary.'_

Instead, pains had been taken to arrange for a truly private meeting, which had rather interesting implications for what they were about to discuss.

' _Whatever it is, I am likely not under suspicion.'_

And so, he approached his superior, who presented his ring of office.

"Your Eminence," the priest greeted, bending to kiss his superior's proffered ring.

"Father Kotomine," the other replied gravely, nodding and beckoning for the Japanese man to straighten. "It has been some time, has it not?"

"It has, your Eminence."

"I suppose you are wondering why I summoned you to Rome? And why I did so circuitously, instead of sending an Executor?"

"The thought had crossed my mind, Your Eminence," the Executor acknowledged. "Especially given how long it has been."

"No doubt," the Cardinal grunted. "You were always a perceptive one, Kirei. Faithful. Driven. Intelligent. And you managed to get results where no others did. Had you stayed in Rome, you might be the leader of the Assembly by now. Instead, after participating in the so-called Holy Grail War in Fuyuki, you remained in that city, taking your father's place as the parish priest." The prince of the Church eyed the man before him appraisingly. "Why?"

"…there was work to be done in Fuyuki in the wake of the War," Kotomine responded. "And with my father's death, the local parish had no priest."

"True. Though you could have written to request a replacement. I would have gladly made arrangements for a pious son of the Church."

"…nevertheless, your Eminence, I thought it better to remain."

This was for several reasons, including his desire to see Zouken slain, and having been entrusted with raising the Tohsaka heiress by his late Master, Tokiomi, aside from keeping some other unpleasant facts hidden.

Not that he was about to mention any of those in the very heart of the Church.

"I see," the Cardinal noted softly. "Your skills have not gone the way of rust, I trust?"

"I am perhaps not at my prime but I can yet serve," Kotomine replied, raising an eyebrow. "Does Your Eminence have need of my talents, when there are so many Executors in Rome who would be happy to serve?"

"It is not I who needs you, but the Church, Kirei." The prelate shook his head. "Given recent events…you are perhaps one of the few people who the Church can rely on for the task at hand, other than young Cervantes, who has already been briefed."

"Your Eminence, what do you—?" Kotomine questioned, unable to keep his lips from curving into a frown.

"—the Assembly has been betrayed," the Cardinal supplied, as the Executor before him looked up, puzzled. "Over the past few years, certain of the artifacts in our keeping have gone missing, among them the holy swords Durandal and Ascalon, several items from Solomon's temple, and several so-called Holy Grails."

"…what?" Kotomine Kirei was, to put it bluntly, shocked. He had not known that the Church had those particular relics, but he knew of the protections that were placed on the most valuable – or dangerous – items the Church wished to seal away, and of how difficult breaching those would be. "But…"

"Indeed. Hidden away as they were within the Vatican's most secure vaults, with no one outside the Church knowing that we possess them…"

"I presume they were guarded by the Assembly?"

"Yes. There are at least two members present at all times."

"I see. May I ask how the theft was discovered?"

"Every decade, certain members of the Assembly are tasked with verifying the condition of the items and their protections against the catalog on file," the Cardinal related, letting out a deep, shuddering breath. "This year, the task was given to young Cervantes, who only been with a little over a year, and his report revealed…discrepancies."

"The Assembly has been infiltrated, then?"

"Indeed. The trouble will be determining who the infiltrators are, and what faction they are working for, which is why I called for you," his superior intoned. "You posed as a magus' apprentice in the past, after all, so you have some idea as to the tactics infiltrators would likely use. And aside from that…" The Cardinal looked him in the eye, his gaze hard. "You have been in Fuyuki for most of the last decade, so you are one of the few agents I have who I can sure is not complicit in this…conspiracy."

"Along with Cervantes, I assume."

"Naturally," the other man acknowledged. "Kotomine Kirei, Executor of the Assembly, I give you this charge: track down the infiltrators, and who they are working for. Retrieve the artifacts. Purge the corruption at the heart of the Holy Church."

"Will I have any assistance?"

"There are few who can be spared, or trusted, but among those, there are two which come to mind: Executor trainee Hansa Cervantes – who you will officially be listed as preceptor for, and should demonic intervention be suspected, one Caren Ortensia."

Kotomine kept his face expressionless at the mention of the last, as it sounded familiar to him for some reason, though for the life of him, he couldn't quite remember why.

"It is unfortunate, but I cannot detail too many to assist you, lest those you seek begin to suspect why you are here."

"It is no trouble, your Eminence," Kotomine replied, intrigued by the thought of having something interesting to do after all these years. Given that Zouken had died at the hands of the Einzbern and the Holy Grail War wouldn't be starting up again for a while, he had wondered how he was going to fill his time. But the Cardinal had provided. "As ever, I am at the service of the Holy Church."


	66. Sic Itur Ad Astra

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 65.** _Sic Itur Ad Astra_

Far to the West, George Weasley found himself carrying out his part in an ancient tradition that had begun during the days of Ancient Rome, and had been fleshed out in German and English folklore. Like the first dream of the New Year in Japan, and the first Shrine visit, this longstanding custom was said to set the tone for the year to come, though it could be considerably more pleasant – or awkward – than either of the others, depending on who one's partner was for the purposes of the…ritual.

This was, of course, the tradition of the kiss at midnight, a modern day – rather less debauched – interpretation of the revels of Saturnalia, something he found himself rather enjoying, as he was kissing the lovely Fleur Delacour under a beautiful starry sky.

And she, for her part, was moaning into the kiss, as she found herself within his strong arms, enjoying the warmth and solidity of her fellow Champion.

" _I…I suppose I cannot refuse if it iz…tradition,"_ she'd said shyly, as he'd looked into her eyes and drawn her close as the old year died and a new year was born, standing together atop the high walls of the Durmstrang Institute.

The part-veela had come up to the crenellations of the castle to be alone with her thoughts, as there was much that had happened in the last few months that deserved some reflection, now that there was finally a quiet moment.

She had taken lives in an attempt to save not just her own, but that of another. She had been accused of the vilest, rankest practices – of using her wiles to gain an unfair advantage – when she'd gone out of her way _not_ to do so. She had proven herself as a Champion, having – somehow – cast a Patronus in the First Task and impressing the judges to no end. She had survived her ordeal in the wilderness.

And sometime during all that, she had met a gallant little boy who had defied his country not once but thrice to defend her and her honor, volunteering to be her personal _garde du corps,_ setting off into the frozen wastes of Svalbard to deal with whoever – or _whatever –_ had started the rumors about her, and accompanying her at the Yule Ball, to spare her the attentions of would-be suitors…despite the fact that the Potions Champion of Hogwarts was not at all attracted to her, but was (very obviously) interested in Rachelle, if how he gazed at the Alchemist like a love-sick puppy when he thought no one was looking was any indication.

This had been a source of some amusement for both her and Rachelle, helping to defuse the tension that had lingered between them ever since she and the Etoile Noire had been required to spend much time in each other's company. She'd known that the other was a remorseless killer, after all, who had claimed the position of Potions Champion not just because of her formidable brewing skills, but because every other possible contender for the title was dead.

Fleur had, of course, thought there was more to the story than had been shared in the version that had been circulated in the gossip of Beauxbatons, but hadn't really asked, since she had been rather intimidated by the petite blonde, and feared that what she had heard about her would simply be confirmed if she did. Instead, she'd taken pains to be polite – even pleasant – to the other girl in their appearances together for the media or other such, hiding her unease behind a pleasant enough mask, as so many others did at Beauxbatons.

…but then she too had taken lives, and _la belle dame sans merci_ had been the only one who really understood what that was like. Who had tried to comfort her, albeit not particularly well, given that she didn't _want_ to be a killer, and had stood beside her, despite the rumors about her, despite the terrible things others said and did.

They'd spent much time in each other's company, with the tension kept at bay by Matou's antics, more than she'd even spent with a single other person at Beauxbatons, given that she'd needed to be careful about the messages she was sending others, the unconscious signals she was giving, especially to boys, and now…now perhaps they were friends.

' _I never would have thought I would be friends with the one they called the Butcher of Beauxbatons. But Rachelle is surprisingly…gentile.'_

Yet, though she now understood Rachelle Lestrange after spending time with her, there was someone who confused her more and more the more she learned about him.

George Weasley.

He should have hated her for killing his comrades, but he spoke up for her.

He should have ignored her during the Second Task, or pressed his claim to the cave he had occupied, not…made her feel so wonderful.

He should have said something about what had happened between them, as most boys would have – and some were all too quick to claim what they had not – but he had kept quiet.

 _She_ should have known he was trouble, should have recognized the danger he represented, but every time he touched her, she felt her loins tighten, and a powerful warmth blossoming in her chest.

'… _and 'e…saved me?'_

Why? Why had he stood against his own countrymen to save her life? It couldn't have been her allure – he had proven himself to be quite immune to her Veela charms, though not perhaps to her feminine wiles. It couldn't have been mere physical attraction, as the warm, thoughtful person she'd met didn't seem the type to assault his peers for the sake of a pretty face. It couldn't have been something deeper than that, because they'd never even met, and she certainly did not believe in love at first sight.

(Lust, yes, but love was a whole other matter.)

…she didn't know.

Just as she didn't know why she had agreed to his company when he, too, had come up beside her, ostensibly having come up to the battlements to seek a moment away from the revels below.

' _Perhaps 'e is simply not fond of most people?'_

"I didn't expect to see anyone else here," he'd said, looking out at the frozen lands below, where they had spent so much time as Champions. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"C'est un monde libre," she'd replied simply, even as her heart began to beat faster at the nearness of him. "Faites ce que vous voulez."

Perhaps he wouldn't understand, and would think that her speaking in her mother tongue meant she wished to be alone.

Yes. She rather thought that might be the case, given that Britain didn't seem especially fond of learning about the outside—

"Don't mind if I do then," he'd murmured, with Fleur looking over in surprise to see him meet her gaze with a smile.

Flushing, she turned back to the magnificent vista she'd been contemplating, the pale, snowy fields set against the jet-black raiment of the sky.

"Parlez-vous francais?" she'd asked after several moments had gone by.

"Not really," he'd answered with a shrug that had seemed almost _gallic_. "But I have a gift for meanings."

"Meanings?" she'd echoed, arching a slim eyebrow.

"Among other things," he'd said, the corners of his lips tugging upwards in mischief. "Unexpected encounters, for one."

The two had lapsed into silence for some time after that, simply standing beside each other. The Champion of Hogwarts had seemed content just to enjoy the scenery, without pressing her or making her feel ill at ease, and it was clear to her that if she wanted answers, she would have to ask.

"Why…why did you…save me?" she'd asked at last, noting with some satisfaction how surprise seemed to flicker across the young man's features, before she noticed him noticing her study of him out of the corner of his eye, and once more, pretended fascination with the stars, instead.

"Ah, Lestrange told you, did she?" the boy had chuckled good-naturedly. "I might have known she'd do that eventually."

"…you admit zit vas you?"

"No sense denying it," George had murmured softly. "Not here, at least, when it's just the two of us."

"You are so sure zere iz no other?"

"Well, one of the Serpent Commander's men, some distance away, but that hardly counts, since he's invisible and quite out of earshot," the boy had quipped, with Fleur looking about despite herself to see if she could see some trace of another person on the battlements.

She couldn't, of course.

"Invisible? But zen…'ow can you tell?"

"One of my…gifts, you could say," he had said enigmatically. "One shared by your colleague. Lestrange, I mean."

"Ah." _One_ of his gifts, he'd said? That suggested that he had quite a few that he had not revealed. _' 'As he been 'olding back?'_ Whatever the case, that had not been the issue at hand, and with this opportunity available at long last, Fleur had refused to be distracted. "Merci beaucoup, then, but…vy?"

"…I live in a cage, you know," the boy had replied, seemingly a non-sequitur. But then he continued. "Britain. The system as it stands. The layers upon layers of lies and falsehoods, and the rules that arise from them. A cage with bars woven from the expectations of others, and a lock crafted from my own. From what I thought was my own, but was really just what I had learned should be mine."

There had been an odd look in his eye as he spoke, his tone almost wistful.

"But then there are cages and there… _cages,"_ he'd said meaningfully, lifting a hand and looking at his fingers as if they were some alien appendage. "Flesh itself is one such. Clothes are another. The words we use. The masks we wear. All of it." He'd turned to look at Fleur, his gaze… _intense_.

"All of it?" someone had echoed, with Fleur realizing after a moment that the one who had spoken was her.

"All of it. The trouble is, one becomes used to the cage, believes that to be all life is, comes to see those outside the cage not as free, but as alien, wrong, _inhuman_ ," he'd continued, his smile growing brittle. "Like my comrades in Hufflepuff. Poor, deluded fools who believed they acted out of righteousness, yet whose guilt is all the greater for it."

"…guilt?"

"They attacked an innocent, after all," George had replied, exhaling a long puff of frosty white in the cold. "Two innocents, really."

"…I am not so…innocent," Fleur had protested. "I…I killed…"

"You slew beasts lost to their delusions," the young man had whispered.

' _What?'_

"Beasts…? Is zat 'how you…?"

"They surrendered to their mad desires and called it justice," George had answered, shaking his head. "What other word is there for that, but _beast?_ "

"And you don't mind that I…I killed zem?" Fleur had asked, her voice barely a whisper as she caught his gaze, dark blue eyes looking into gold. "That I…"

"You did what you had to do," the young man murmured, taking a step closer. "How could I mind that, when I simply did the same, _ma chérie?"_

The way his voice all but growled those last words sent a shiver down her spine, and as she swallowed, she found herself almost leaning against him, with a surprisingly delicate hand cupping her alabaster cheek.

"So when you…when you…"

"I simply let them see the bars of the cage, showed them the truth – and against it, they could not stand," he had whispered, a hairbreadth from her lips, as she found herself leaning towards him, as—

Cheers could be heard from far below, signaling the passing of the old year and the birth of the new.

"Ah, minuit…" Fleur had realized.

"Ah, so it is," George had answered, leaning his forehead against hers. "Well. It is simply tradition, and tradition itself is a cage, but…"

"I…I suppose I cannot refuse if it iz…tradition," the part-Veela had cut him off, closing the distance between their lips, as his arms wrapped around her, and hers found their way to the nape of his neck, pulling him close in a passionate, soul-searing kiss.

And as shooting stars fell from the heavens, streaking across the sky in lines of silver flame, so too did the rest of the world fall away for the two lovers, lost in a moment in time.

* * *

On the long walk under the _torii_ on the path leading up to the Fushimi Inari shrine, Matou Shinji had thought hard about his wish for the coming year. A wish for _Hatsumode_ set the tone for the year, after all, so it was important to pick a good one. Sometimes, people chose a fairly general wish, like success in their endeavours or for good health. Sometimes, they wished for something more specific, asking the gods to grant them success in some specific endeavor – like finding a job or helping them with university entrance exams, or to help a family member recover from an illness.

The question continued to plague him as he reached the fountain at the threshold of the shrine and took one of the available ladles from where it sat. He went through the standard ritual to purify himself before entering, scooping some water from the fountain and using it to wash his left hand, switching the ladle to his other hand and scooping water to wash his right, switching the ladle back to his right, pouring water into his left hand and finally bringing that hand to his mouth.

That accomplished, he filled up the ladle again and tilted it to let water run down the handle, purifying it of his touch as he placed it back where he found it.

Cleansed and refreshed, he entered the shrine to pray, though he hadn't really come up with anything he considered appropriate yet, given how thoughts of the impending Potions Championship loomed large in his mind.

' _And if I fall…what will happen to those I care about?'_

He decided, then, that he would make their well-being his wish for the coming year.

' _I mean, I already gave up a big favor from the Fujou to help Tohsaka – what's a simple wish in comparison? I could wish for success in the Potions Championship, but what I do there, I want to do under my own power.'_

That was what Sokaris would want of him, after all – to see what _his_ best efforts could do, not those of another, so that was what he would do.

He went through the ritual needed to make his wish, and afterwards, felt a vague sense of relief – enough so that while the others went to make their wishes, he stopped by the stall selling _omamori_ and picked up two.

Luna seemed quite happy when he presented one – a _gankake_ omamori in the shape of a fox – to her, both because it looked nice, and because she appreciated the thought that it was something she could use to ensure a single wish came to pass.

Shiroe, however, to who he presented the other – an _en-musubi_ omamori bound by red threads – was considerably less amused, given that such a talisman meant that Shinji was wishing him every success in finding an ideal partner, and as he had just asked if Tohsaka could come to _Mahoutokoro,_ seemed like an attempt to foist the girl off onto him.

"…thank you. I suppose," Shiroe said after several long moments. "Even if I'm not really looking for love at the moment, since I have much to catch up on in terms of learning my family arts."

"Well, you may not be looking for it, but who is to say it isn't looking for you?" Shinji quipped with a sly smile, as the redhead shot him a reproving glare. "Besides, if you end up finding a lover, then you can't exactly make fun of me anymore, can you?"

As of late, the Potions Champion of Hogwarts _had_ grown tired of the Fujou head – or would he be the head of the Fujou much longer, given that Fujou Kirie had recovered and was the elder of the two siblings? – teasing him about his " _Shiroi Koibito_."

"…if you say so, Matou," Shiroe replied after a beat. "How are things back in Britain?"

"Not as well as I'd hoped. Not as badly as I'd feared," Shinji noted mildly.

"So – everything is normal, then?"

Matou Shinji chuckled.

"If you can call _any_ part of my life _normal._ "

"…well, that's true."

* * *

All in all, the day passed peacefully, with Shinji, Luna, and the Fujou family spending a good of time in and around Kyoto. Part of it was spent on Mount Inari, visiting the minor shrines and stalls, enjoying the food and atmosphere of New Year's Day. Part of it was spent in the City Under the Earth, where they shared a traditional New Year meal of _ozoni_ cooked from a fire lit by embers from the Yaskasa Shrine, met with members of the Japanese Council of Magic to offer their wishes for a prosperous year ahead, and did a bit of shopping, with Shinji buying a set of self-geass scrolls, which he thought might be useful in the future, and Luna buying a fan depicting a silver _kirin_ on black silk, with ribs made of a strange shimmering metal that the proprietor of the shop called _seija sekiei_ , or some such.

Soon enough though, it was time to head to Osaka, where the performance of _Daiku_ that Shiroe had arranged for the party to be part of would take place.

Where it took place every year, in fact.

Shinji, on recognizing that there was only about an hour and a half left before the performance, and that it would take about an hour by train to simply get from one city to another, almost flew into panic, but soon found that Shiroe had made other arrangements.

Since the young head of the Fujou was was one of Kaiduka's trainees, the group had been granted use of one of the portals, which deposited them in a safehouse in Osaka an easy ten-minute walk from the venue.

' _He could have told me that ahead of time…'_

Not that Shinji had any room to complain about people not telling him things, given that he was far from generous with information, partially as a result of his upbringing in a magus family, and partially because he knew that knowledge was power.

Still…

' _Wait. What's that?'_

As they walked towards the grand stadium where the performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony would be held, among the throngs of people converging on the location, he thought he saw a lithe form with long white hair out of the corner of his eye.

 _'An Einzbern...?'_ he wondered, feeling a chill go down his spine at the thought. Surely it couldn't be...could it? They couldn't have found him…could they? _'Unless Tohsaka - or Master, said something inopportune, they should still think I'm dead, so why…?'_

His thoughts – and gaze – fell on the boy who invited him to join them for the evening: Fujou Shiroe, who for some time had been the adopted son of the Magus Killer?

Could they have discovered the link between those two identities, and come to track down the one who was undoubtedly Kiritsugu's heir?

' _No, that doesn't make sense either. Ilya told me they lost track of him when he left Fuyuki, and they frankly have no reason to connect "Emiya Shirou" to the head of the Fujou family,'_ he mused, shaking his head.

"Is something wrong?" Luna asked him, noticing that he seemed a bit tense.

 _'If I had Zelkova here with me, things would be easier,'_ he thought, regretting the absence of his kodama familiar. _'At least then, I'd have access to fusion, and to certain stealth abilities that I don't as my human self.'_

Sadly, Zelkova had stayed behind to spend time with Shiroe's familiar, the great wolf Shiranui, so fusing wasn't an option…

"…no. I'm pretty sure things are fine," he answered, shaking his head. "Just…had something on my mind, that's all."

He didn't want to worry Luna, after all, and in any case, he was probably worrying for nothing, given that even if the Einzbern had tracked him down – somehow – they wouldn't dare to launch an attack with so many mundanes about.

At least, they wouldn't if they were wise, as the Tower would be quite unhappy with them.

 _'Not that I'm one to talk about wisdom, as I've never been known for mine.'_

Wisdom, as Helena Ravenclaw herself was quick to note, was not the same as intellect or wit, after all. And while he prided himself on having a healthy mind, he knew he could often be impulsive, driven more by emotion or the needs of the moment than by the big picture.

And thus, while it was tempting - sorely so - to drop everything else and go after the white-haired person, to discover whether or not there was someone after him, the boy decided against it.

If there was indeed a hostile magus present, and he chased after him or her without some sort of support, he would probably end up dying – or wishing he was dead. If he asked Luna, he was sure she would come with him, but the knowledge that she would probably accompany him even into the depths of hell itself made him more cautious, not less. She'd already nearly given her life for his sake once – he wasn't about to let her do it again.

Involving the Fujou…well, that was foolishness, for while Shiroe might be willing to lend him some assistance, if _anything_ happened to the family head or a member of their family because of his actions, that would probably spell the end of any favorable treatment for him and any of his associates at _Mahoutokoro_.

' _And since being forced to leave Britain is a real possibility, I don't want to burn any bridges I don't have to.'_

...not to mention that he thought their retainer, Asa Drake, already considered him a possible threat, and he had the distinct feeling that he didn't want to get on her bad side.

'… _I guess I might as well talk to her? I know we didn't hit it off the first time, but maybe if I talk about something she can relate to?'_

He turned to find the blonde swordswoman in a quiet conversation with Fujou Shiroe about the merits of various types of weapons, and their wielders.

Whether sword wielders could beat archers, and in what conditions.

How naginatas compared to western lances.

How katanas related to broadswords, and how difficult a one hand style was as opposed to a two-hand style.

"No, I don't think it would be wise to throw a sword at an enemy, unless it has some magic that allowed you to manipulate it after it left your hand," Asa Drake was saying with some animation. "A knife, perhaps, but even that takes a good of practice."

"…I suppose you have a point," Shiroe allowed reluctantly. "I'm more used to fighting at a distance, with my bow and my…other abilities."

"Yes, but an archer should not be helpless at close range either," Asa chided, looking at the redhead imperiously. "And with your ability, you should never be without a weapon in hand."

"True enough."

As there was no reply immediately forthcoming, Matou Shinji took the opportunity to inject himself into conversation.

He _was_ a bit curious about how things were going for Shiroe, especially with regards to how the magus was doing with his familiar, what he had chosen as his weapon style, and whether his friend would continue to be the head of family now that Fujou Kirie had been healed, since she was, well, older, and seemed to have more training than he did.

As for Asa Drake, the boy found her quite curious too – and not because, as George would no doubt say, he had a weakness for petite blondes!

Was she a travelling mercenary of some sort? A freelancer born of a magus family, much like Emiya Kiritsugu had been? A defector from the Church?

She called herself a knight, after all, and there were few organisations in the moonlit world, who had any practical use for knights, save for the Church, which actively used knight squadrons as the backbone of their military might, in addition to the Executors and…Templars which served as special forces.

 _'The last of which I have heard quite a few unsavory things about from Lockhart, though I don't think he's the most objective source.'_

Though now that he thought about it, his grandfather had once mentioned that the Templars had been responsible for driving him out of Old Rus, and given that his grandfather had been an Archmagus, well, that implied a certain level of power, competence, and sheer ruthlessness.

In any case, for most, knighthood – or membership in a Chivalric Order – was simply an honor granted for service to a country or government – much as he was part of the Order of Merlin.

If Asa Drake strongly identified as a knight, and was a swordswoman though, indicating that she had the training to be part of a _military_ order, what did that mean?

' _Might as well get the answer directly.'_

"Miss Drake," Shinji interjected, giving her his most charming smile.

"Yes?" the warrior replied evenly.

"I'm curious – you mentioned you were a knight, but what does that mean exactly?" he asked simply. "How did you come to be in Japan, and where were you trained, if I might be so bold?"

The blonde swordswoman raised a slim eyebrow.

"Before I answer that, I have a question for you," she said simply. "If you do not wish to answer, so be it, but neither will answer you."

"Ask."

"Very well," Asa noted, the iron in her expression quite at odds with the elegance of her formal _furisode_. "Since you mention that you are called...a modern Lancelot," she noted, with the last three words said particularly gingerly, "I take it you are familiar with Arthurian legend. The Matter of Britain, as it is sometimes called."

Shinji nodded, as it was hard not to be at least passingly acquainted with it – especially living in Britain as he was.

"It is a simple question. Which of the characters is your favorite?" the swordswoman inquired, her green eyes looking at him searchingly. "Lancelot, since you mention him? Or some other?" She paused for a moment, before continuing. "Oh, and which do you see yourself as?"

"That's _two_ questions, not just one," Shinji noted mildly.

"Do you not wish to answer, then?"

Shinji sighed, shaking his head.

He had no idea what the motivation behind this line of questioning was or what she hoped to learn, but he supposed it would be better to indulge her curiosity, as it _seemed_ harmless enough.

' _Perhaps as a knight, she is fond of the stories of Camelot, given that it – and the Knights of the Round – are fairly iconic in the lore of knights._

Indeed, the Round Table might be said to be the embodied concept of 'a place where heroes gathered' – even if most of them had, in some way, shape or form, been tragically flawed.

' _So, my favorite, huh? And which one I see myself as?'_

For a moment, he was inclined to say Mordred, given the treacherous knight's low cunning, and ability to fight on equal terms with the King of Knights, though somehow, he didn't think that Miss Drake would exactly approve. Galahad, perhaps?

' _No, that doesn't work – I tend to prefer characters that are powerful but flawed. Who seek the best for the people of the land, and who would be willing to give their all – even giving their lives – for what they believe in, and what they've sworn to protect.'_

Which left only one choice, really.

"To answer your question, I've always been fond of Arthur Pendragon, the one styled the King of Knights," Shinji replied airily, though as he said that, an odd memory from several months back came to mind. This one involved a conversation with the oddly named "Fou-kun" and a rather shocking revelation about the identity of the Once and Future King. "Or is it Arturia? I can't help but recall a conversation I had with someone about how King Arthur was actually a woman, simply one who hid her identity." He tilted his head. "It would explain Lancelot's affair with Guinevere, especially if she wasn't interested in women," he mused aloud.

There was a long, pregnant silence.

"...oh? And who might have given you this odd idea?" Drake inquired coolly, raising a slender eyebrow.

"An ancient beast I had the chance to meet," Shinji remarked with a shrug. "A certain Cath Palug, who claimed to be the familiar of Merlin."

"…I don't remember the Magus of Flowers ever having such a familiar in any tale I'm aware of," the swordwoman replied.

"That may be so, but…"

He was inclined to believe Fou's claim, since the King of Heroes himself had deferred to the small animal, treating it as a being worth of respect.

"Well, that aside, you wanted to know who I see myself as? Or perhaps who I would like to see myself as?" Shinji asked in confirmation, to which the other nodded. "Well, that's simple - I see myself as something like Merlin," he continued, a small smile stealing across his lips. "After all, I am part of the Order named in his honor."

"Oh? So, like Merlin, may I assume that while you may be capable as a practitioner, you are also someone who could be described as a grandstander, a showman, the cause of many troubles, and, of course...excessively full of love?" Asa inquired slyly.

Shinji winced. That...that hit a little closer to home than he would have preferred.

"I don't know about being the cause of every trouble, but Matou always did seem to enjoy attention - and he does seem excessively full of love," Fujou Shiroe supplied, "what with him enjoying the company of one beautiful woman after another, be it Miss Lovegood, or his childhood friend, Tohsaka Rin."

Shinji shot his friend a baleful glare, but Shiroe simply smirked.

"What? It's not as if I'm wrong, am I?"

"..."

Matou Shinji did not dignify the Fujou head's comment with a response, mostly because it was – in every particular – true.

"As to your question of what being a Knight means to me," Asa Drake spoke up, "it means more than simply being a warrior. It means abiding by the standards of chivalry, and holding the needs of the many above the needs of the few...or the one. My identity as a Knight comes before my gender or nationality." Her face looked troubled for a moment as she looked away. "Unfortunately, my last...the last man who held my contract, was not quite so honorable, and the last conflict I participated in ended...poorly for most concerned. I am here in Japan as I wish to make amends."

"And where you were trained?"

"That is a not a matter I wish to discuss," the woman replied flatly. "I asked two questions and answered two. You wish a third, when as a magus, you should be aware of equivalent exchange."

"...understood. I apologize for my lack of tact," the Matou scion said simply.

He still didn't know much about the woman, but he was coming to realize that he _didn't_ want her angry at him.

Little was said after that, and before long, they reached the venue and were ushered through the doors leading to the field, where a series of elevated platforms had been erected. There, they were split up, assigned to different sections of the field by vocal range, with the ten thousand standing behind the orchestra and the four soloists – one of which was the individual he'd seen earlier, with hair so white and lustrous it almost glowed.

Luna had been assigned a spot close to the front, just behind the white-haired young woman, while Shinji was a good deal further back and to the right, next to Fujou Shiroe, of all people.

"...so, you did practice, right, Matou?" the redhead asked quietly.

"...practice?" Shinji echoed.

He'd been so busy.

The head of the Fujou family sighed, shaking his head.

"...let's just hope you have good pitch. And a good ear," Shiroe grumbled, but said no more, thinking that Shinji would inevitably find some way to come through smelling of roses.

"Hey, Fujou?"

"Yes?"

"Who's the girl with the white hair?" Shinji inquired, noting the curves of her slender form.

Fujou Shiroe groaned.

"…why do you want to know, Matou?" the redhead wondered. "Don't tell me _she's_ caught your eye?"

"…no?"

"It's not good to lie on the New Year, you know…"

"…fine. It's…unusual for me to see someone with hair like this. Especially in Japan."

Outside of Ilya, the only one he'd seen with hair that color was Nymphadora Tonks when she was particularly upset, and that had only been once.

"Her name is Chloe Ainsworth, and she's from Europe," Shiroe supplied, sensing that Shinji was simply not going to let this drop. "We do have a tradition of inviting a singer from Germany to participate in this event each year, since they were the ones who brought us Number Nine."

"I see. Germany, huh?"

'… _could it? No…an Einzbern wouldn't participate in this.'_

"…if you want to meet her, I'm sure you'll have a chance at the meet and greet tonight, if you want to go" Shiroe mentioned quietly. "Since the Fujou family helped sponsor this event, we were given some tickets to a small get-together with the soloists and orchestra after this. You're welcome to come, if you want. If not, I think Kohaku will be going back to _Mahoutokoro_ with her sister, and you're welcome to join them."

"No, I mean, yes – yes, I'll go," Shinji answered. "I'm – I'm sure Luna would like to meet her."

Shiroe smiled thinly.

"Right. We'll just pretend that's actually why you want to go."

There was no more time for talking after that, as warmups and a last rehearsal began, and then the doors of the venue opened, with tens of thousands – perhaps over a hundred thousand filling the seats in the stadium, all gathered in one place for the night of music.

The conductor took the stage, the first notes rose into the air, and the power of the music took over, as the performance began in earnest.

Surprisingly enough - or not so surprisingly - Shinji did indeed manage well enough.

(Though if he'd done horribly, the voices of the 9999 others would have drowned his out, so it was something of a moot point).

Certainly, his was not a voice that could rival those of professionals that trained every day, but among a group mostly made of people from the community, it fit well enough. Strands of song poured from every mouth, from each set of lips, the efforts of soloists, orchestra, and chorus coming together in a riveting whole that was nothing short of electric.

They gave their all to the music, and the music filled them with a power all its own, a joy – a sense of wonder greater than the transient glory of the world – evoking a sense of elegance, grandeur, warmth, passion, as if each one, through their singing, was helping to bring light into the world, illuminating even the darkest places with hope.

Until at last, the final notes were sung.

The music stilled

And in the silence, a young boy with blond hair and red eyes stood and began to clap, alone at first, before one after another, the people around him rose up, filling the air with thunderous applause.

The message had been heard.

The souls of those watching had been touched.

And this night, this first night of the new year, everyone – whether musician or audience, man or woman, child or adult, all stood as one, firm in courage, believing that tomorrow would be better than today, the new year better than the year before.

But only if they stood together, reaching out their hands to bring into being the future they wished to see.


	67. Unpleasant Truths

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 66.** _Unpleasant Truths_

"It's New Years?" Fred echoed softly, his face twisting into a strange expression as he looked at Harry, who had come to visit him, wherever he was. He could tell he was in a private room in something like a hospital, but this looked nothing like Saint Mungo's. Nor had the people around him moved or acted like any Healer he knew in the hours since he'd awoken in this strange room, surrounded by all manner of magical instruments. They had seemed more like…Aurors, and they clearly had been surprised to see him awake. At least they had left after poking and prodding him a bit, leaving him alone with his old friend, who had been called from wherever he was when he learned Fred was awake. Still… "But…how could that be?" the redhead wondered out loud. "I thought…didn't the year just end?"

Harry frowned.

' _And there's another oddity. Why the blazes is Harrikins dressed in those garish purple robes, instead of Hogwarts robes?'_

Or other casual robes, if this _was_ New Year's Day, really.

"…what's the last thing you remember?"

"I remember my last day at home, before I was supposed to take a Portkey to Japan," the redhead replied quietly, still trying to figure out what in Merlin's name had happened. "Something that Matou had arranged."

"And nothing after that?" Harry pressed. While some memory loss after trauma wasn't unheard of, and Fred, from what he understood was very, very lucky simply to be alive, how did someone just lose six months of his life?

"…no. Nothing." A chill settled at base of Fred's spine, as he began to catch onto why Harry was questioning him. "Something happened, didn't it?" Not that _something_ happening hadn't been obvious – and presumably something serious, but which people wanted to keep quiet, since otherwise, he would be at St. Mungo's, not here – wherever this was. "Was there an accident while I was Portkeying? Did parts of me get scattered across the world, with what little was left lying in some kind of magical sleep until the rest of me was found and put back together? Have I been… _wherever this is_ for the last six months?"

"Just a little over one," Harry corrected, a trace of melancholy seeping into his voice. "So, you don't remember anything after that, huh? Your time in Japan, going to Durmstrang, any of it?"

"None of it," the redhead murmured, his hand rising to his face, so he could rub his tired eyes. "But I take it you're here to tell me, Harrikins?"

"…I'm not sure if I should, actually," the Boy-Who-Lived admitted, his expression souring. "A lot has happened, and little of it pleasant."

"Isn't that more or less every year?" Fred asked sardonically. "It isn't as if we've had much of a break between trolls, Dark Lords, Acromantulae, and the like."

"Well, if you put it that way, I guess that's true," Harry noted with a weak chuckle. "Still, things are a bit bleaker than that this year."

"Is that why you're dressed up in purple, like one of those stuffed robes in the Wizengamot?"

"Heh. Well, not _like_ one of those stuffed robes," the Heir of Slytherin corrected. "I am part of the Wizengamot now, as British Youth Representative."

"Huh. Good old Harrikins is moving up in the world!" Fred quipped, his lips curving in an ironic twist for a moment and a few heartbeats before it faded. "Though I thought they would have waited till sixth year, at least. Fourth year is a wee bit early for a job, isn't it?"

Harry turned away, looking off into the distance, and for a few seconds, the mask of composure and confidence he wore nearly all the time slipped, leaving the Boy-Who-Lived seeming incredibly old and frail.

"I didn't have a choice, really," the boy responded quietly, shaking his head. "The country needed me, and it wouldn't have been right for me to refuse. Especially not when the Minister himself asked it of me."

"Minister Fudge? I mean, he isn't that bad, and he's done wonders for the economy, but…"

"I mean Minister Malfoy."

"Min— _what_?" Fred's mouth fell open in shock. Minister _Malfoy?_ How had that…? Why would he…? Surely there hadn't been an election already, had there? Or…?

"There was an…attack," Harry explained, choosing his words with care. "Fudge was killed, as were many of his senior staff. The Wizengamot appointed Lucius Malfoy as the new Minister, granting him emergency powers for the duration of the crisis."

"…for the duration of the crisis," the redhead echoed dully. "Weasel words if I ever heard any." Fred shook his head. "An attack? Who was it? You-Know-Who come back in glory? Escaped prisoners from Azkaban?"

The Boy-Who-Lived winced at his friend's flippant tone.

"…I know you like to make jokes, Fred, but please, not about this," Harry said after several long moments as he turned to consider his old friend with a hard expression. "Too many people have lost their lives."

"Sorry," the older Stone Cutter replied immediately. "Sorry, I…I wasn't thinking."

"You just woke up. I shouldn't expect you to know," Harry said, almost to himself, his gaze softening. "Some of my colleagues think it was Bulgaria after we beat them in the World Cup, but I'm not so sure – the attack was clearly planned out in advance."

"Assassinating a Minister is kind of a big deal, yeah," Fred noted. "I mean, I know about what happened with Romania about a century ago, but this is on a whole other level."

"Yeah. We're still looking into it," Harry replied. "Unfortunately, we didn't manage to catch any of the attackers."

"…how convenient."

"I wouldn't say that. It's not that they escaped. They just…" the Boy-Who-Lived hesitated, considering what to say. "They used Fiendfyre, and…."

"They let themselves burn rather than get caught, huh?"

"Something like that," Harry equivocated with a sigh. "Either way, it doesn't leave us a lot to go on."

"I can see that." Fred shook his head. It sounded like a lot had happened, though what Harry was telling him wasn't in any way close to complete. "So, is there anything you can tell me about what happened to me?"

"All I know is that you were hit with an unknown spell at Durmstrang, which left you in a coma for over a month – and apparently erased some of your memory," Harry explained, looking around the room with a frown. "Happened to a few of our Hufflepuffs too. Some of them died."

"Must have been really dark magic. Can't say I'm surprised. The school has a reputation for the Dark Arts," Fred reasoned, shaking his head. "We should just have held the Tri-Wizard Tournament at Hogwarts. Things would have been simpler that way." Even as he said that though, the redhead remembered that Dark Magic also tended to have fairly horrific – sometimes irreversible – side effects. "Harry…what aren't you telling me?" he asked pointedly.

"I…uh…what?" was the Boy-Who-Lived's eloquent response. "What do you mean?"

"The spell I was hit with. I'm sure it had some effect you're dancing around, which you're not telling me because you don't want to trouble me, but…"

"…try doing a spell," Harry said abruptly.

"What?"

"You heard me. Try casting a spell," the British Youth Representative repeated. "And no, your wand isn't here."

"Destroyed when I got hit with the spell, huh?"

"That's right."

Finding Harry's request odd, but thinking that it really any odder than anything else he had been told to do in a hospital, Fred decided to humor his old friend, focusing his will and speaking the words _Wingardium Leviosa_ , as the levitation charm was one of the simplest charms he knew of.

Sadly, his sheet failed to rise into the air.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he repeated, thinking that perhaps he had simply mispronounced the incantation. Yet again, there was no effect. "Wingardium Leviosa," he said again, somewhat more frantically. "Wingardium Leviosa. _**Wingardium Leviosa**_!"

His face twisted in a rictus of fear and suspicion as he looked down at his hands.

" _ **Wingardium Leviosa! Wingardium Leviosa! Wingardium Leviosa!"**_ he repeated over and over, desperation filling him as he willed the sheet to move – to rise – to do something more than just sit there treacherously, mocking him. "…Wingardium…Leviosa…?"

But nothing worked, and after minutes of trying, shouting, and cursing, he looked over at Harry, feeling absolutely empty inside.

"It's gone, isn't it?" he said in a dull, lifeless monotone. "My magic. Everything that makes me…me."

"Well, just your magic, not everything—" Harry temporized, but Fred cut him off.

"What good is a wizard without his magic?!" Fred had to bite back the urge to scream at his friend. This wasn't Harry's fault. This _wasn't_ Harry's fault – even if the younger boy didn't understand. Couldn't understand. "Without magic I might as well be…"

' _A muggle.'_

And there was the ugly truth laid bare, that for all he and his family had once disagreed with other purebloods, believing that those without magic should also be entitled to some basic protections, when push came to shove, he didn't want to be one of them.

' _Like a deaf and dumb animal, utterly unaware of the world around me.'_ He felt disgusted at himself for even thinking that, but there it was.

…not that he had anything against Muggles as people. Some of his good friends were Muggleborn, and he did find some Muggle girls cute. He just didn't want to _be_ a Muggle, not after having had a taste of the wonders that magic made possible.

Harry waited as Fred raged, having expected a reaction not unlike this. After all, he doubted that he would react well if one day, he simply lost his magic. The Wizarding World would never accept a Muggle as one of their leaders, and few witches would accept one as a peer – or a lover.

' _I wonder if Daphne would…'_

But even as he asked that, he knew what the answer would be.

He already knew about magic, so it wasn't as if his partner would have to hide her magic from him until it was unavoidable (as was the case in every most Muggle-Wizard or Muggle-Witch pairing, for Statute of Secrecy reasons), but on the other hand, if he lost his magic…he'd lose everything.

The people of Britain saw him as a savior. A powerful wizard – a hero – who could stand against any enemy they faced. They drew confidence from knowing that he stood with them, walked among them, fought beside them.

If he could no longer do so…

Suffice it to say, he had some idea of what Fred must be going through, though he couldn't imagine just how much worse his friend had it, as the Weasley boy had grown up in the world of magic, in a family of wizards and witches.

Eventually though, Fred's muttered cursing came to a halt as the boy slumped back on his bed.

"They're going to kick me out of Hogwarts, I expect," the redhead stated, more evenly than Harry would have expected. "There's no place for me here without magic. I know that much."

"Well…"

"Don't lie to me, Harry," Fred pre-empted. "Look, I appreciate you coming to tell me all this yourself, and that you want to make me feel better, but…they're just going to wash their hands of me, and send me off to live with some Squib, aren't they?'

' _Probably my…relative, who we never talk about.'_

"…I honestly don't know," Harry replied, because he didn't know what exactly was planned for Fred. "What I do know is that since you lost your magic under unusual circumstances, the Department of Mysteries is curious about what happened to you. After all, if it was an effect of the spell, we need to come up with some kind of countermeasure. If we can't…" _'The possibility of facing something like that – if what could happen was known – would shatter the army's morale worse than facing any Unforgivable.'_

It was one thing to be willing to fight for one's nation – even to die, covered in glory – plenty of young men and women could see the honor in that.

But if, instead of death, what waited was dishonor? If the enemy struck not at their lives, but at their magic, and their place in society – guaranteeing that even if they did win, Magical Britain would still be effectively destroyed, what did any of this matter?

' _And that's why what happened to Fred is being kept a secret. Why even his family can't be allowed to know.'_

"…so what, then, the Unspeakables want to study me?" the Stone Cutter inquired, his voice intent but soft as he sat up, looking at his old friend. "To see if they can come up with something that might spare other people my fate?"

"They might even be able to reverse the effect, given time," Harry suggested, though he knew the possibility was a slim one.

"You don't actually believe that last bit, do you, Harry?"

The Boy-Who-Lived shook his head.

"Sorry. The choice is yours though," the Stone Cutter said quietly. "You can live comfortably as a Muggle, or help the Department of Mysteries find a way to protect all of us." Harry sighed. "I can't promise it will be pleasant. But it would be worthwhile."

"Well, if you put it like that…"

Then there really wasn't any choice at all, was there?

* * *

On the other side of the world, Matou Shinji was having quite a good evening, as the Number Nine afterparty for the soloists, musicians, and special guests had turned out to be one of those quiet, intimate affairs which he rather enjoyed. As he was part of the Fujou party, he'd gotten to meet a few of the other notables in the room, including the charming heiress of the powerful Reiroukan family, the eldest daughter of the Asakami, a promising neurosurgeon whose work on transient global amnesia was groundbreaking, and of course, the beautiful Chloe Ainsworth, whose voice and appearance were both quite intoxicating – and who seemed somewhat familiar – though he couldn't quite place where exactly he knew her from.

She'd seemed amused to see him so flustered, a reaction that he suspected was common for those who had the chance to meet her.

Her reaction to the Fujou's retainer, however, was considerably…cooler.

"Asa Drake, is it?" the soloist echoed, her blue eyes running over the blonde swordswoman's slim figure. "You're a long way from Germany, aren't you?"

"Do I know you?" Asa questioned.

"Not formally, no," Chloe replied, a hint of something in her rich, sapphire gaze. "Though I've certainly know of you."

"Oh?"

"Yes indeed," the white-haired songstress confirmed, looking the swordwoman in the eye. "If memory serves, weren't you working with some Japanese freelancer just a few years ago? Some fellow by the name of…oh, _Kiritsugu,_ was it?"

One could almost hear a crack as Fujou Shiroe's head snapped up to look at the woman whose services his sister had retained.

Who had apparently known – and worked with – his adopted father.

 _'Sister...what aren't you telling me?'_


	68. Ominous Visions

**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 67**. _Ominous Visions_

Silently, he made his way through a subterranean passageway, with scant illumination save for the soft glow emanating from the orb floating above his shoulder. He had been underground before, navigating treacherous caverns and ruins on his adventures, but for some reason, he found this particular passage more unsettling than the others before.

Perhaps it was because this one, unlike the others, was built to a scale far larger than any human needed, with statues of strange creatures looming out of the dark as he walked on.

Statues with heads that resembled those of birds.

Statues with jackal or wolf-like features, with teeth bared and tongue lolling.

Statues with tentacles in place of beards – or heads – or limbs.

Scattered on the floor here and there, weathered and worn, were old bones, bleached white as if by some incredible heat. Had others come here before him? Adventurers, perhaps, whose ambition and greed had outstripped their meagre abilities? Or were these bones older still, from the days before this structure had fallen into ruin?

And if he listened closely, concentrating every bit of his attention on his hearing, he thought he could make out something like whispers, though what they might be saying, or who they might be talking to was something he couldn't make out.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, turning to the familiar young woman walking silently beside him. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, but his thoughts refused to yield it.

"I—" she began to reply, but only to cut herself off as her head jerked up sharply. "Something's coming."

Moments later, a spike of danger shot through his mind, as a massive multiheaded beast of pure white – a chimeric fusion of many forms and creatures – padded into view no more than a dozen meters away, its glowing golden eyes regarding him balefully.

Its body was crouched low as if ready to spring forward, closing the distance between them. If it did, he knew, it would be on them in seconds.

And Matou Shinji would not give it that chance, not when he'd given so much and sacrificed more just to be standing where he was.

Thinking quickly, he ripped the vial of _Felix Felicis_ he wore from his neck and downed half of its contents, as the world seemed to slow down.

With barely a thought, _ofuda_ hidden in his sleeves shot forward, striking the ground and remolding the stone of the hallway into great spears that thrust themselves at the Chimera just as _it_ lunged. Unprepared for the rapidity of its prey's response, the beast smashed into spears with a roar of frustration, slowed – but not injured at all, as stone weapons snapped before it, unable to pierce its hide.

With his will, the Boy from the East commanded the spears to fall, for the very rock to swallow up his enemy, but—

" _ **AWOOOOGHHHHHHH!"**_

—it simply _howled_ , the sonic assault shattering the cage he was constructing and nearly knocking him off his feet.

Undaunted, the boy snapped his fingers, as a few of his _ofuda_ which had not been consumed to bend the will of the earth, blinked out of existence, replaced with a number of explosive potions, courtesy of a non-verbal Switching Spell.

One by one, they detonated, with Shinji trusting the concave hollow of the area the chimera was in to shape the force of the explosions, directing all of it at his foe!

 _Whump-BOOM! Whump-BOOM! Whump-BOOM!_

Detonation. Detonation. Detonation.

His efforts were joined by shining lines of force, as sun-bright runes loosed by his companion slammed into the enemy with incredible force, staggering the beast and blackening its fur - and flesh – with each fell strike.

"A chimera, huh?" he heard his companion murmur, and glanced over to see a dangerous smile playing across her lips as azure light danced upon her fingertips. "Don't see one of those every day. Matou, you should—."

Before she could say more, a blast of heat and light washed out, blinding the boy for a moment – just long enough for the phantasmal beast to escape his impromptu trap. It landed before him, its mouth opening wide as it loosed a massive gout of ebon fire.

' _Flames hot enough to sear spirit as well as flesh.'_

Were he not under the influence of _Felix Felicis_ , Matou Shinji would have died on the spot, burned to ash – no, less than ash – by the beast's ire. But under its influence he was, so the boy barely managed to interpose his wand – grown into staff form between him and the flames.

For one terrible moment, he thought he'd made a huge mistake, since there was no way a mere staff could block a tongue of flame larger than he was – but block the fire it did. No, not block, but drink it in, as the runes and traceries carved into its surface began to glow with an eldritch light.

' _That's right…Matsuo-sama said it could convert fire elemental attacks into raw prana,'_ he recalled, remembering all that had gone into the staff's construction. _'Which means I have a chance. Not a great one, but one all the same.'_

No doubt the beast would soon recognize that he was somehow rendering its flames ineffective, and would seek to rip him limb from limb.

' _What should I do?'_

He could try and fall back to where his companion was, but he'd lost track of her when the chimera had launched its sonic assault earlier, and he couldn't exactly look for her, as there was fire everywhere except in a small area before him.

' _And even if it is stopping the fire, it isn't stopping the heat…'_

Already his skin was blistering, even through the layers of protection he wore, through the wyvern-hide and enchanted underarmor, and everything else.

' _So in the end, there is no choice after all…'_

Indeed, there was only one thing that would give him a fighting chance to do more than simply survive this encounter.

His trump card – Fusion, though it was rare indeed that he had needed to fuse under such dire circumstances.

Usually, there was a moment in the fight when he could concentrate only on his inner world, on opening the door that separated himself and the world, usually when he'd been knocked down, or an enemy gave him a chance to surrender – but even now, the chimera was pressing its attack.

' _It…hurts.'_

But he had to look past that, had to keep it from his mind, had to keep the desire to rip it apart and make it stop from his thoughts so he could descend into the moment of calm that mastery of earth was rooted in. And if that wasn't enough, he had to keep the staff between himself and the beast, lest the astral form of Zelkova be destroyed completely by the oncoming conflagration, had to keep his eyes on the monster in case it surprised him.

' _I'm…right here.'_

Matou Shinji _breathed,_ eyes flaring silver as he fought a desperate battle within himself, ruthlessly quashing the rage and fear that was bubbling up in his core – for he knew too that Zelkova would already be uncomfortable with the fire all around him, and it would not do to add to that, lest the fusion fail.

' _I can't afford failure. Not now, not here. Not against something that is like Fiendfyre but worse.'_

He breathed, drawing into him the senses of the earth, breathing out the pain of his mortal vessel.

' _I'm right here.'_

He stood against his foe, against a creature from the Age of Gods, and did not falter. He stood unyielding, despite what it cost him. He stood, doing what he must, because he could.

' _I'm right here.'_

And amidst the noise and destruction, the boy found his center at last, descending into his mind and opening the door. In that moment, everything shifted.

Zelkova's power and thoughts flowed into him. The world itself flowed into him. The whispering of the stone, the weight of his enemy, the sheer power and heat of the cursed flames turning the rock all around him to bubbling slag.

All of it he could feel, could sense, could know, as if it was happening to his own body.

The might of the flames meant that he could not rely on the innate resistance of his fusion form as some absolute protection, but then with a beast like this, it wasn't practical to simply try to protect himself. No. Such a beast needed to be ended, before it used its monstrous claws against his staff, or perhaps its barbed tail, the tip of which gleamed with something he was sure he didn't want touching him.

…before the heat all around it healed it of its injuries.

 _'...that's right. Just like my staff, this Chimera can absorb fire and heat. The longer I just try and hold it off, more it will heat its environment, and the more it will heal. If I'm not careful, it will—'_

It lunged, springing at the boy with claws sheathed in corrosive prana, as its fiery breath petered out.

Once more, the boy interposed his staff – now a scythe – as a defense, catching the claws before they could rip him apart, only to realize too late that _he_ wasn't the target.

His _staff_ was, as if the Chimera recognized the glowing weapon as an existential threat – as an enemy that needed to be defeated.

 _'It must be sensing the Chimera scales embedded in it, or just recognizing how I'm able to defend against its flames through Absorption – the very ability it uses.'_

Its weight bore down on him, pressing him back – back – down – down, forcing the boy from the east to his knees as he found himself unable to match it in a sheer contest of strength.

' _No…'_

Even as he grit his teeth and struggled to stand, to push back, he could see it bringing up its barbed, armored tail, as if to deliver the _coup de grâce_.

 _'Oh...shit...'_ the boy thought out, his enhanced senses allowing him to see the tail come at him almost in slow motion, though there was no way he could avoid it – not without letting go of his staff, and if he did _that_ , he wouldn't be able to stop its fiery followup. _'I can't...'_

There was no way, no way he could see, that...

 _'Wait.'_

Time stood still as his mind accelerated, his thoughts racing into the past and leaving the present behind. His consciousness sped deep within itself, reaching for something he'd been told long ago. Something he'd been taught. Something he'd been shown.

Something he'd nearly forgotten amidst the many tricks he'd seen and done.

It was there, in the tangle of his memories, if only he could-

 _'Yes!'_

His eyes opened wide as he grasped it, traced the patterns that would allow him to steal victory from the jaws of defeat.

 **'Release,'** he intoned, his will shaping the fullness of the power that the staff had drained into a single titanic blast, as acrid, hissing darkness spilled forth from it, spreading over the chimera's claws and limbs and pouring onto its body in a corrupted torrent of black rain.

The beast _howled_. Screamed. Roared, as the water – if it was water – as pure _decay_ tore at it, snuffing out the prana it commanded, ripping at its very spirit as it grew in strength and power.

 **DIE.**

So his will commanded, and his magic did its best to make the beast obey.

Any lesser creature would have been destroyed in the maelstrom of dark magic released in that moment, this chimera was an ancient beast, one that had outlasted many like it, one that had outlasted the turning of the age, and so _refused to die._

It refused as its fur blackened.

It refused as its eyes and nose blistered.

It refused as the corrupted prana sheathing its claws and tail was leeched away to fuel the strike.

It refused and struck back, releasing a gout of corrupted fire not at its assailant, but into the torrent of corrupted water, flashing the vile liquid into superheated, corrosive steam.

Some of it continued towards the beast, true, but some which took less damage from that than water alone, but some – the merest dregs really – blew back towards the fusion user, ripping mercilessly through his stone-like skin as he, too, _screamed_ , his vision going white from pain as he _let go of the staff_.

When he returned to awareness some time later, the boy – still in fusion form, somehow – found himself laid out on his arse, his ears ringing and his vision still spotty, as pain wracked him all over.

With a thought, he tried to summon his staff to his hand, and was relieved when it came.

' _It wasn't destroyed.'_

Looking around, he could see something glowing, and focusing his attention, he felt a chill go through him as he noticed exactly what it was.

' _That's…the chimera.'_

Well, itwas what remained of the chimera, at any rate, given that its body had been torn apart lengthwise, the two halves of its blackened carcass smoldering upon a still-glowing surface that was smooth as glass.

 _'What on earth?'_

"Are you alright, Matou?" a voice spoke from beside him, with the boy looking up towards whoever had spoken, and finding his breath stolen away at the sight before him – a beautiful young woman whose glowing form was wreathed in crackling arcs of azure lightning. For a moment, he wondered if he had been wrong – if the Church had been right and there were such things as angels, or if this was perhaps an elemental or divine spirit, but after some seconds, it dawned on him that it was in fact his _companion._

"I, uh…"

"Confronting a phantasmal beast in melee is not exactly recommended, after all, even if you do possess a...secondary form," the other continued coolly.

She offered him a hand, but seeing that he wasn't sure he wanted anything _glowing_ touching his body when pain still ran through him with every movement, he shook his head. Instead, he propped himself up with the haft of his scythe, using that to help him find his footing.

"You..." he said after he managed to get to his feet. "Was that...fusion? Or...something?" Shinji got out, looking uneasily between her and the defeated chimera. _'Did she...did she rip it apart with a spear of lightning, or something?''_

That would explain why the world had gone white, given that he, like his...less fortunate opponent, would have effectively been at ground zero of the blast. If that were so, then letting go of the staff had perhaps been a good thing. Otherwise…

' _I would have been destroyed.'_

Well, perhaps not destroyed, given that the earth element of his fusion form would resist lightning to an extent, but even so, with the damage he'd already taken…

 _'Whatever happened wouldn't have been good, that's all I can say.'_

"No, not fusion," the other explained matter-of-factly. "Just a temporary release of limits usually imposed by…common sense." The glowing figure chuckled mirthlessly. "While I can something like a familiar to help facilitate this, it is not, strictly speaking, required."

"I see," the boy said. He didn't really, but he wasn't going to argue with someone capable of killing a creature like that with a single attack. Somehow, he thought it might bode ill for his life expectancy.

The young woman shook her head.

"You are wounded, Matou," she noted. "Can you still fight?"

Shinji nodded, trying to hide a wince as he did so.

Apparently he failed, as his companion made some odd gesture and a warm sphere of golden light enveloped him, knitting his wounds and easing his pains over the course of about a minute.

"Better?"

"…yes. You can heal as well?" he questioned, shaking his head. "I didn't think…"

"It's not something I do particularly well in my usual form," she replied evenly. "Though I prefer it to this heightened aspect, as like draws like, and here, in a place dating from the Age of Gods, that could well be...counter-productive."

"…I can see how that would be so," Shinji agreed readily, not wanting to think about what might be drawn by the prana she was emitting. "Thanks, by the way."

"None needed. Just answer this, how long can you maintain your fusion?" she asked.

"Several hours," Shinji stated. "After that, I'll need to rest. The concentration needed..."

"Ah, I see. You have not yet moved beyond dealing with desynchronization?" the other questioned, raising a slim eyebrow. "Your...colleague does not share that issue."

"...Sajyou-san is also on a whole other level compared to someone like me," Shinji admitted, ducking his head. "Besides, I'm inexperienced, so please take care of me… _senpai_." He added this last bit impishly, though the other was not quite amused.

"I'm no one's _senpai_ , Matou," the other replied dryly. "And down here, none of that senpai, kouhai stuff matters worth a whit anyway, so don't get yourself killed on my account. I can take care of myself, you know. As you should. If you can't, you have no business in this place."

"...I know," Shinji voiced, nodding his head with a heavy sigh. "I know. Shall we continue then?"

The other grunted as she reverted mostly back to her original form, the glow - and the majority of the lightning - fading from around her, though a few azure butterflies of lightning remained to light the way.

"Indeed we shall," his companion commented wryly. "After you - you're the one who is a walking tank, after all."

Shinji shook his head.

"...fair enough," he allowed. "Just try not to fry me next time, _senpai_."

"Heh. I'll try my best, but no guarantees, Matou," the other replied, as they began walking once more. "Oh, yes, I nearly forgot."

"What is it?"

"That final strike of yours."

"Yes?"

"You somehow managed to corrupt the chimera's elemental affinity, changing its alignment to water. An impressive feat, that, and one which certainly made the beast quite a bit easier to kill."

Shinji only blinked.

 _What?_ He had…

"...one tries," was all he said in turn, as the dream faded away, and Matou Shinji awoke in a room with an unfamiliar ceiling.

As he looked around, thankfully free from pain, he recognized it as a room in the Fujou estate, where they'd all returned to after the meet and greet had turned somewhat awkward. At least, awkward for Asa Drake and Fujou Shiroe, since the swordwoman – who somehow knew the singer, Chloe Ainsworth, had once worked with Shiroe's adopted father.

Personally, Shinji hadn't understood why Shiroe was acting so strangely about it. If she was a mercenary of sorts, and he supposed she'd have to be, if she was taking contracts, then it was quite possible she'd have crossed paths with another. And well, _he_ wouldn't particularly care if someone had known _his_ father in the past, useless man that Byakuya had been.

His _mother_ on the other hand…

Well, every time someone in Wizarding Britain brought up Aisaka Mariko, he found himself unexpectedly affected, as it was a reminder that he did have a connection to that land, even if he didn't really admit it most of the time.

' _Even if I feel like that land has gone mad.'_

He had enjoyed the party the night before, really, since meeting Chloe Ainsworth in person had reassured him that she wasn't some Einzbern homunculus out for his blood. Not that he'd used his full name, just in case, introducing himself as Aisaka Shinji, though for a moment, he swore she seemed to recognize him.

' _Probably just imagining things.'_

After all, as the _tanuki_ had shown, an attractive woman generally had no trouble convincing a man that she was happy to see him, or of much else, really, in the right context.

' _She just has one of those voices, I imagine. Even if there is something a bit familiar about it.'_

Was that why he'd dreamed what he had? Who knew, really.

The boy sighed, breathing in the mingled scents of buttermilk and bacon hanging in the air, which suggested that breakfast was being cooked, and that the person cooking was not Shiroe or one of the other Fujous.

 _'Luna, probably, though I suppose Kohaku could be there as well.'  
_  
Through the window in the corner, he could see that the sun - or what passed for it here in the City Under Earth – was already high in the sky. How long had he been sleeping? Obviously longer than usual, since he hadn't woken up early to train – and hadn't been woken up when Luna had left his side, if the now-cold indentation on the bed next to him was any indication.

 _'Still…what was that dream?'_ he wondered. _'It felt so...real.'_

Many of his dreams had been since sometime last year, though he didn't know why, or really, what he was seeing. When he'd talked to Ilya at Christmas last year, she had suggested that he was seeing events that were taking place somewhere else or through the eyes of someone else, given that the things he was seeing hadn't been from his point of view.

And for the most part, that did describe his dreams, though this time, and a few times before, things had been different.

There had been one where he fought alongside goblins in the streets of what looked like Hogsmeade, with Tohsaka by his side, as they opposed practitioners of witchcraft in rust-colored robes.

There had been one where he'd...found himself wounded and nigh paralyzed after a battle – apparently one in which he'd been hit by a spell that had induced hypothermia. Tohsaka had been there as well, enthusiastically – if somewhat embarrassingly – offering to warm him via skin-to-skin contact – when that actually wasn't that effective of an approach.

There had been one where he had been fighting a terrible beast of claws and fur and whirling steel. In the face of terrible odds, he managed to overcome his foe, only to be torn apart by tendrils of darkness that exploded from within its corpse.

And then there was this dream, where he found himself fighting beside an odd companion who referenced the Age of Gods, who used something like Fusion, and had killed a Chimera with one attack. Whoever this was, it certainly wasn't Luna, so he was left wondering who was she?

Where was this? When was this?

What could it all mean?

 _'Whatever it means, I need to get up.'_

He'd spent too much time asleep already, and there was little enough time before he needed to return to Hogwarts, and finish up his preparations for what he need to do before the potions competition began.

Still, maybe a walk before breakfast would clear his mind.

Maybe he could spend some time with Luna in the kitchens, provided she wasn't already sharing it with someone else, as that might be awkward otherwise. Maybe he could take a cold shower.

Maybe…

…something to clear the fog in his mind, and brush away the strange sense that there was something there he was missing, something just out of reach.

 _'I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing sometimes,'_ he admitted to himself.

' _That makes two of us, Master,'_ a voice chimed in – the voice of his familiar, who had been absent last night. _'I see you had an eventful evening.'_

' _You could say that, Zelkova,'_ Shinji noted in his mind, as he eased himself from the bed and padded over to the window. _'I have to admit, ten thousand voices singing together was quite_ something,' he recalled, the memory of that night coming to mind. _'The glory of it. The power of it. You should have been there.'_

' _I would have, save that the tengu called Shiranui wished to speak with me.'_

' _Mm. Did you learn anything?'_

' _That I am not particularly good at painting,'_ the _kodama_ related dryly. _'And that you are a person who elicits very strong reactions from those around you.'_

Somehow, that seemed less than completely reassuring.

' _Oh?'_

' _Shiranui suggested that I wear your form while we walked about the city, as it was one that would not stand out overmuch._ Kodama _are uncommon, after all, while_ onmyouji _are…less so. And because it would be a way to see what others thought of you.'_

'… _what happened?'_

' _I was mistaken for you by a number of the younger students of_ Mahoutokoro _, who all wanted to know what the West was like. They were…excited that someone their age had been chosen as a Champion.'_

' _Oh?'_

' _A few wished to know if you were seeing anyone. A few believed you were seeing the Beauxbatons Potions Champion, given the recent gossip. A few know of your relationship with Miss Lovegood, your_ shiroi koibito, _as some called her_.'

'… _does speculation about my love life follow me everywhere? Why in the name of Makar Zolgen would it…?'_

' _Humans are odd creatures, master.'_

'… _I will agree to that. I take it you were rescued from your captivity?'_

' _Yes. Miss Tsuchimikado was able to separate me from the other students, as few are willing to refuse her,'_ the _kodama_ related. _'Nor your mentor Tomas Peverell, who was with her. They had apparently visited the shrine together.'_

Shinji's eyebrows shot towards his hairline, as he hadn't expected for those two to be spending the new year together.

Though…what exactly _was_ Tomas up to these days, anyway?

That aside…

' _Tomas expressed disappointment that I had not gone to Osaka, as Miss Ainsworth had so been looking forward to seeing "me" again, though I believe he confused me for you, Master.'_

Seeing him…again?

' _He had apparently had the pleasure to give her a tour of the City while she was here in Japan, as she was a magus of some power. Apparently, Miss Aozaki was supposed to have been assigned the task, but she was otherwise preoccupied…'_

…a magus…

' _Tsuchimikado-san wasn't fooled as to who you were, though?'_ Shinji questioned, noting that his familiar had only mentioned Tomas' confusion.

' _No, but then, she is bonded with a satori.'_

'… _I thought she did not often use it.'_

' _It seems that a sighting of you warranted it.'_

Shinji let out a bark of laughter. Was he _that_ unexpected a sight that the granddaughter of the head of the Japanese Council of Magic wanted to check if it was really him?

' _She probably knows I was supposed to be with the Fujou, and wanted to know what I was still doing in the city.'_

It was the reasonable explanation.

' _Did she say anything interesting?'_ he added, a beat later.

' _Mm, she did offer a gift, Master. Something to help ease the challenges the New Year holds, she said.'_

' _Oh? And what is it?'_

' _I left it on the nightstand while you were sleeping, Master.'_

Intrigued, Shinji turned from the window to the table in question, and sure enough, saw a gold band, set with several small rubies.

'… _a ring?'_

' _A ring that bears a sliver of a fire spirit's might, boosting the bearer's resistance to spells of mental domination. Tsuchimikado-san also mentioned it could allow you to launch fireballs, should you have the prana, though if you use it for that, it ceases to provide any protection until its prana is recharged.'_

'… _I see. Where did she get it?'_

' _Asplund's Shop of Horrors, I am told.'_

The place where it had originally been procured made Shinji rather leery, considering his experiences with the man but…

'… _could you go and thank her for me? I fear I will need her gift in the coming weeks.'_

' _I already did, Master.'_

'… _thank you. What would I do without you, Zelkova?'_

There was a pause of several, painfully long seconds.

 _'I do not think it would be tactful of me to answer that honestly, Master,'_ was what Zelkova said, when the _kodama_ answered at last.


	69. Where the Wise Fear to Tread

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 68.** _Where the Wise Fear to Tread_

For Matou Shinji, the month after winter holidays had seemed at once both interminable, given the number of affairs he had needed to put in order before he departed for the isle (and their complexity), and not nearly long enough, given that no amount of time would have let him feel adequately prepared for the trials to come.

' _Was that part of what Sokaris_ _wanted me to experience by having me participate in this?'_

He had learned from her that Alchemists often found themselves in situations where, in terms of raw power or skill, they were not quite a match for those they faced – at least, in a direct confrontation. Yet in those situations, they managed to eke out a victory anyway, either by creating what was necessary to close the gap, or using everything in their arsenal of skills to ensure that if a confrontation occurred, it was on _their_ terms, not their opponent's.

A fine mirror for how he felt about being the youngest Champion of the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship – a better than average fourth year filling a spot that would normally have gone to an exceptional seventh.

' _Of course, Sokaris didn't say I had to win, just that I should, if possible, but that above all else, I should live.'_ The boy smiled faintly, on remembering the conversation he'd had with the Director of Atlas this past Tanabata. _'Then again, she_ was _curious about the Isle of Thule, and how it remains largely untouched by the Common Sense of the Age of Man, so, of course she would prioritize my survival. She wouldn't get a report otherwise.'_

While he liked to think that it was simply because she cared about his well-being, Matou Shinji wasn't exactly blind to the fact that as a Director, Sokaris had other responsibilities and commitments. Such was fitting for one of the most people in the moonlit world, for someone who he aspired to stand beside as an equal one day.

' _This opportunity could be another step towards that goal,'_ he mused, _'or it could be the place where I meet my end.'_ He frowned then, as his mortality wasn't something he liked to contemplate, even if every true magus walked with death – understood that it was always a possibility, given the dangers inherent in their world. _'But I've made preparations for that…possible outcome as well.'_

Lockhart had been quite helpful in walking him through those grim eventualities, coaching him in how to write – and file – a Last Will and Testament in Magical Britain, mentioning how one generally needed to be careful about how one worded one's bequests and conditions, and how, it was not a good idea to list one's assets in full, as the Will would become a public document in the event of his death, and if he had things he would rather keep secret, then they shouldn't be in there.

The adventurer had also mentioned that wills filed in Magical Britain were only valid and enforceable with regards to his assets _in_ Britain, due to jurisdictional issues relating to each magical nation being a sovereign state. The same had been true in the Muggle world until 1973, Lockhart explained, when the members states of the International Institute for the Unification of Private Law had (mostly) agreed to a convention on Uniform Law on the Form of an International Will, which provided for a universally recognised code of rules under which a will made anywhere, by any person of any nationality, would be valid and enforceable in every country which became a party to the Convention.

There was no equivalent in the wizarding world, so if Shinji had assets in other countries, then it would be necessary to create documents that dealt with his assets in those countries.

In the case of Britain, this had been simple enough – in the event of his death, his manor, contents of his bank account, and the like would pass to Luna Lovegood, with his familiar to be released from his service. And since Luna was not of the Age of Majority, he had chosen Lockhart as the Executor for his estate, as he was certain the man knew both how to get things done, and to get people to do it for him.

…though Shinji still had trouble wrapping his head around the fact that Lockhart had gotten Rita Skeeter to be one of the witnesses to his will-writing, which had been done after the unexpectedly civil interview he'd had with her, in which they'd discussed the Championship, his hopes and aspirations, his expectations for how he would do, and the people he was grateful to for helping him along the way.

These were, as follows:

Sokaris, his great inspiration, the person in whose memory he strove to become more than he was with each passing day.

His companion, Luna Lovegood, whose unshakable faith in him and fresh-eyed view of the world had reminded him that even in the darkest moments, he was not alone, and that he shouldn't take magic and its gifts for granted, as so many others did.

His familiar, who had shown incredible patience in dealing with a Master like him, and who was, in truth, one of the closest friends he had in this world.

Professors Snape, Lockhart, and Flitwick, great teachers and mentors who had challenged him and helped him to grow as a wizard, a scholar, and a person.

The late Robert Hillard, one of his first friends at Hogwarts, who had showed him that the impossible was merely difficult, and that the merely difficult was no trouble at all.

His former Master, Aozaki Touko, who had taught him the basics of runes, and first introduced him to just how vast the world of magic was, how much more there was than the arts of his family.

His mentors and associates at _Mahoutokoro_ , who welcomed him every summer, and had, over the years been more generous with their time and attention than he had any right to deserve.

George Weasley, the Hogwarts Triwizard Champion, who even up at Durmstrang, had demonstrated his worth as a Stone Cutter in speaking up for the innocent, when it would have been so convenient to stay silent.

His friends among the Ourea, from whom he had learned much through their group exercises and discussions.

And of course, the _Daily Prophet_ , whose articles had been a great instructor on the finer points of invective and character assassination.

"…are you sure you want that last line printed?" Lockhart had asked of him. "As your publicist, I have to advise you that it might not be entirely wise to be so…tongue-in-cheek."

Shinji had just shrugged.

"This could be the last interview I give in Britain," the boy had replied gravely. "Given that, I think it is important that everyone knows where I stand, no?"

"Noted. At least you've followed my other suggestions," the man had said, relenting. "Is that about it, Rita?"

"Normally, I'd simply leave it at that, but given that dear Gilderoy would no doubt step in if I didn't at least ask…are there no others you wish to thank?" Rita Skeeter had inquired, pushing up her red-rimmed glasses. "Anyone you're forgetting?"

After all, the names of Professor Slughorn, the man who had ostensibly been his mentor in the subtle science of potions, and Harry Potter, who was said to be Matou's oldest friend, had been conspicuously absent from the list of those he wished to thank.

"Now that you mention it, there _is,_ " Shinji had noted with a bit of chagrin. "I wanted to thank Peeves, the castle poltergeist, who for all the trouble he causes, is a true brother in arms, and the Grey Lady, whose advice has been invaluable over the years. That's all."

Rita's eyebrows hadn't shot up – she was too well-disciplined for _that_ – but one did inch upwards fractionally, as she took down these two final names, fully expecting that there would be some interesting reactions when the article was published.

Which there were, both from the people in question, as well as those who felt slighted on their behalf, though Shinji hadn't been bothered to care, as their assumptions and thoughts just weren't a priority in his life – and he certainly wasn't going to devote effort to dealing with them when he had a competition to prepare for and duties to discharge.

There were _ofuda_ to stock up on, potions to craft, recipes to refine – and blood magic to learn about, with the help of Tomas, as the puppet had noted that he had some experience with using blood to create powerful potions, and would be happy to give Shinji a basic grounding in that branch of the art, in exchange for a _reasonable_ fee.

' _If only Master was still my Master, instead of Tohsaka's…'_ Shinji had thought at the time, noting that since Aozaki Touko wasn't taking responsibility for him, that meant that her services – and those of her assistant, Tomas – were no longer…free.

"I'm sure we can come to an arrangement," had been what the boy had said by way of reply, as he tried to keep his frustration from his thoughts.

"Indeed," the puppet had replied. "In this case, two vials of the Potion of Fading you have devised would be adequate. I am interested in studying it."

"You don't think of it as 'evil,' as some from Britain seem to?" Shinji had wondered, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to.

"Matou, you of all people would do well to remember that there is no such thing as good or evil," Tomas had answered, unknowingly echoing an instructor from Shinji's first year at Hogwarts. "There is only power, and those too weak to seek it." He had smiled then, a thin, dangerous expression. "So…do we have a deal?"

Shinji had agreed, as he'd feared that the price the puppet would demand would be much higher, after all the favors the man had done him with regards to procuring a wand for George and such. It wasn't as if the Potion of Fading was _that_ impressive, right? And since Aozaki Touko wasn't his Master anymore, it wasn't as if he was entitled to Tomas' help for free, since the man's time was valuable.

' _Though I wonder if he's doing anything to help out Tohsaka. Or how she would deal with him?'_

Probably not very well, the boy had mused, given that in some ways, Tomas' obvious intelligence and his charm would be especially effective on someone like the Second Owner of Fuyuki – someone who was still struggling to a way to achieve her potential, to make her Master acknowledge her as a magus and a person of worth.

…not that impressing Aozaki Touko was ever going to be an easy task for a magus, since inevitably, the puppeteer would compare their feats and achievements against _hers_ and find them wanting. Both Tohsaka and his former Master were self-taught to an extent, but Rin had the benefit of a Crest and being the heiress of her family.

The puppeteer…well…not so much - and yet it was obvious to all who saw which of the two had made more of herself.

' _Master never judged me quite as harshly as she judges Tohsaka, though whether that is because she approves of my efforts, my patron is her employer, or she expects less of me, due to my being a practitioner of witchcraft, isn't something I've ever been clear on.'_

Nor was it something he especially needed clarity about, so he'd never really asked, lest he find that the answer was not entirely to his liking.

About the one exception to his focus on preparing for the Championship, other than weekends with Luna, was a trip back to Durmstrang, where he had reluctantly agreed to help George for the Third and Final Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Fleur had approached him about being her partner for that task as well, but as much as he would have liked to work with her, he'd had to refuse, given that there were lines that he knew the Wizengamot would not be willing to tolerate him crossing. Being the bodyguard of the Champion of Beauxbatons was one thing, as was spending time with her, no matter the damage to his reputation.

If he actively aided her against the British Champion, however, they would have been well within their rights to strip him of his position, and he had shed too much in the way of blood, sweat, and tears to be denied now.

As it had turned out, though, 'helping' hadn't meant that he would be fighting beside one of the Champions in the flesh, as unlike them, he had not waived his right to hold Durmstrang liable for any death, dismemberment, or other unpleasantness that might result from his participation. And so, he had learned about some of the sophisticated spellcraft that those at Durmstrang were capable of, through interacting with several enchanted spheres.

These functioned in a manner not unlike the _Book of Spells,_ as they could be programmed with various scenarios for those occupying them to carry out. The sphere would then record their responses in different situations, what aspects of their personality were strongest, and of course, their demonstrated abilities – which would form the base of a magical construct which a given Champion would be able to call on and direct in the Third Task.

' _They basically want a copy of our skills and personas to create a doppelganger, huh?'_

Briefly – very briefly – Shinji had considered going all out in the scenarios presented to him, so that – even though he would be off at the isle during the Final Task – he could show everyone _exactly_ what he was capable of. It would have been a delicious thing to watch those who had dared to mock him realize that had he wanted to, he could become a monster every bit as terrible as the one they claimed Lestrange to be, to watch them cower and realize just _weak_ and pathetic they were…

…but he had refrained.

The last time he'd gone all out in a simulation hosted by an unfamiliar party (during Quirrell's Christmas Challenge), showing off had ultimately been detrimental to his health, as it had led the Defense Professor to take him – and the Stone Cutters – seriously. And as someone who had been raised as a magus, and had studied under one of the great magi of the modern age, he knew the value of secrets, and the power of information that a potential opponent did not know.

So, in the end, he'd settled for just using abilities like dual-casting and _ofuda_ – abilities which would be impressive to watch, and useful for George to have access to, but would not steal the spotlight or get him painted as a Dark Lord.

' _I think I succeeded at that, at least.'_

He had no idea what Lestrange (whose doppelganger would be assisting Fleur) had demonstrated during her set of scenarios, though he rather thought – well, hoped – that her way of thinking had been similar. It would be mildly embarrassing if her doppelganger just skewered his, after all! Or killed off the other Champions, of course, since he didn't exactly want George to die, and had no ill-will against Viktor Krum, who, if not as impressive on the battlefield as the Quidditch pitch, still made a credible showing.

Aside from that small diversion, however, he'd focused on his work, trying his best to make what preparations he could before the fated hour when the Portkey he'd been assigned – in the form of his invitation to the isle – would activate, taking him to that remnant of the Age of Gods.

' _But the time for preparation is over,'_ the boy thought to himself as he stood in his study of his London Manor, examining the view outside his window.

What _ofuda_ he could craft had been crafted. What potions he could brew had been brewed. What bits of lore he could learn from Tomas or others had been gleaned.

"Are you ready?" a soft voice asked from beside him, with the boy turning to see Luna sidling up to him, her expression curious as ever, though in this case, her curiosity was mingled with a touch of concern.

She, like him, was clad in the hooded wyvernhide battlerobes and red fabric sash that served as the unofficial uniform of the Stone Cutters, with some enchanted garments underneath – hers being off the shelf products from _Mahoutokoro_ and his, a product of his former Master's workshop – though unlike him, she wore a pendant around her neck, a silvery-gold creation that resembled a dragon's head, and carried something like a backpack.

"If I'm not, it's too late now," Shinji replied quietly, as her hand found his and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

" _Not, strictly speaking, true,"_ Zelkova chimed in, with Shinji finding his disembodied voice a bit disconcerting, as the _kodama_ had chosen to remain out of sight for the moment. _"There is a period of preliminaries on the island before the main competition begins, which you could use for any last-minute preparations."_

"True, but I imagine that I'll probably be busy, since those weeks will also be a time to learn about my competition, among other things. I can't imagine I'll have much time to just dedicate to potionmaking."

" _There is that,"_ his familiar allowed _. "If I may, Master, what are you most looking forward to on the Isle?"_

"…the chance to finally show everyone what I can do if I don't hold back. The chance for me to test my skills against the Champions of the eleven schools, knowing that the world is watching – that what I do here will echo into eternity."

"Perhaps not _quite_ that long," Luna commented wryly as she looked around, taking note of the trunk at Shinji's feet. "Do you have everything?"

"As long as you're with me? Always," the boy replied, with the petite blonde smiling softly at this as she leaned against him.

The portkey activated then, whisking them away from London to an isle that wasn't on any map, leaving behind the manor for a drifting piece of a lost age.

* * *

Here, there would be trials and tribulations aplenty.

Friendships would form. Enemies would be made.

Those chosen few who bore the title of Champion would be tested as they had never been before, pitted against each other – and against the very world itself – over the next month.

Their motives were as different as could be, their backgrounds a colorful tapestry one would encounter nowhere else. Their abilities had marked them as the best in their schools, and each and every one of them had made a name for themselves in some capacity.

Yet though eleven would struggle, and eleven would strive, only one would be crowned, and a handful…survive.


	70. Wandering Eyes and Waggling Tongues

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 69.** _Wandering Eyes and Waggling Tongues_

' _I will never get used to Portkey travel,'_ Matou Shinji groused, as he was deposited unceremoniously on the arrival area of the Isle of Thule, feeling as if the world was lurching back and forth under him. His vision swam, and he almost fell on his face as he staggered forward, gasping deep shuddering breaths as he fought to fend off the urge to vomit.

Eventually, he did, with the world seeming to right itself around him, and Matou Shinji straightened – only to find himself stunned at the vision before him: a petite blonde all but poured into a scandalous dress of black and red, with ribbons the color of blood twined through her hair, framing a delicate face and the silver eyes therein, which noting his arrival coolly.

"I see Portkey travel does not agree vith you, Matou," the other observed mildly, her voice clear as a bell. "I vill note zat for ze future." She gave him a brusque nod before turning towards town. "Come, Gabrielle. Let us find you a place to stay."

"Oui!"

Shinji's gaze was torn from the woman before him by the enthusiastic chirp, with his eyes falling on a young child next to her – a small girl who seemed like a much smaller version of Fleur Delacour. She stole a glance at him, shooting him a shy smile before hurrying to her guardian's side.

For a few moments – or perhaps more than a few – the boy from the east found himself unable to place who the woman who had greeted him could have been, as he had never known anyone to dress quite like _that,_ or seem to radiate such sensuality…

…until, as he watched her walk away, his eyes drifted up, noting the very familiar rapier slung across her back.

 _'Wait. What was…Lestrange?!'_

His mind reeled at the realization, but before he could really reconcile his image of the cold French Alchemist with the sultry beauty he had just seen, he was rudely interrupted.

"You know, it's not polite to stare," an unfamiliar, gravelly voice spoke from beside him, with Shinji turning with a start to see a dark-skinned youth dressed in a wyvern-hide jacket and fedora stepping out of a circle of sand. Perhaps somewhat hypocritically, the older teen was also watching the scantily clad figure of Rachelle Lestrange fade into the distance, even as he criticized – and whistled. "Though, I can certainly understand why you would. That girl…she is something else."

After a few seconds, the young man managed to tear his gaze away from the Champion of Beauxbatons' rather entrancing stride, turning his attention to the Japanese boy closer to him.

"And you must be Matou Shinji, the British Champion."

Shinji blinked. He hadn't expected anyone to recognize him, but he supposed with him being unusually young for a Champion, word might have spread…

"...which makes you...Olu Akindele, the Champion of Uagadou, yes?" Shinji guessed, strictly based on the color of the man's skin, and the sand that had surrounded him. He didn't want to seem ignorant about who his competition was, even if most of what he knew of them was what had been written in the Slughorn article. "I've heard about you."

"...you have, have you?" the other replied, raising an eyebrow. "And what exactly have you heard?"

"Something about how you were a talented animagus who led your country's synchronized transformation team?" the Champion of Hogwarts recalled. "A hippopotamus, yes?"

"…yes, I suppose a British Champion would know about that, wouldn't he?" the African youth noted softly, his tone devoid of emotion as he took in the pile of things near Matou Shinji. "You will be heading to the housing set aside for those like us, yes?"

"Uh…I…"

The youth chuckled.

"Or will you be heading into town, chasing that pretty thing you were watching?" Olu inquired solicitously. "Who is she, anyway?"

Shinji thought it odd that his fellow Champion hadn't mentioned Luna or addressed her at all, only to find that – when he finally thought to look for her – that Luna wasn't beside him. That in fact, she was nowhere to be seen.

 _'Miss Lovegood headed to the village to get checked into the facilities provided for the guests,'_ Zelkova supplied over their mental link. _'She did not wish to disturb you, as your attention was obviously...elsewhere.'_

 _'I see,'_ Shinji noted, feeling somehow as if he'd done something wrong. He supposed it wasn't unusual for Luna to wander off, given her curiosity, but part of him wondered if Luna had gone to talk to Lestrange, noting how similar they looked – a point he had never brought up when he'd talked about Lestrange. _'…I hope nothing bad comes of this.'_ He let out a silent sigh and shook his head. _'Zelkova, can you take my belongings to the housing facilities?'_

"Ah, that would be the Rachelle Lestrange, Champion of Beauxbatons," he said out loud, swallowing in order to relieve a mouth which for some reason had become rather dry.

"I see," Olu murmured, his eyes lighting up as Shinji mentioned her name. "She would be the one they call the Etoile Noire of Beauxbatons, yes?" He let out a soft whistle as he shook his head. "I can see why some would call her that. There is certainly a dark attraction there, isn't there? A temptation to reach out and see if you get burned."

"...I suppose," Shinji conceded. "If you're into that kind of thing."

"...and who was the one who was staring, hm, Champion of Hogwarts?" the other inquired mildly. Then he chuckled, a sound which was not altogether comforting. "Though given the rumors, one would have expected you to be more interested in the other Beauxbatons Champion. The veela."

"—what rumors?" Shinji asked, knowing he would probably regret it.

"Something about being a modern Lancelot, who betrayed his country for the sake of the woman he loved, yes?" Olu answered, before leaning closer to examine Shinji more closely. "Or perhaps you simply have a fascination with French women?"

Internally, Shinji cringed. Was his reputation really so…overblown in this regard that even a Champion from distant Africa would know about it?

"I'm…heh…I'm sure the rumors were greatly exaggerated," he reassured the other Champion, not altogether convincingly. He was a bit startled to see that Olu looked a little disappointed at his reply.

"Eh well, and here I thought I'd found a man after my own heart," the Champion of Uagadou noted quietly. "Still, business before pleasure, yes? I am heading to the facilities for the Champions, if you would care to join me?"

 _'Zelkova, could you follow him and take my luggage with you? Get me checked in, take a look around, and see if you can pick out any other Champions, if you can.'_

 _'Yes, Master,'_ came the _kodama's_ dutiful reply.

"Actually, I think I'll have my familiar take care of that for me," Shinji replied, with Olu raising an eyebrow as Shinji's luggage simply floated into the air. "My…business, as you say, lies in town."

"...business, eh?" Olu echoed, snorting as a thin smile flitted across his lips. "Well, don't let me stop you from handling your...business, Champion. I will see you at the Opening Ceremony tonight, Matou Shinji. Until then, happy hunting."

With that, the older teen left, with Zelkova following behind invisibly, with Shinji turning towards town, following in the now distant wake of the Potions Champion of Beauxbatons. Before he left the arrival area, however, he did take a moment to scan the map which had been kindly provided for visitors, learning that the town – the centerpiece of the area accessible by guests – was towards the coast – that in fact, all the areas accessible to him were on the coast.

' _The bulk of the island is wild and untamed – I wonder what secrets it holds.'_

Likely a good many, or Sokaris would not have sent him here.

Looking closer, he also noted something curious about town.

 _'Huh, there's a Centre for Alchemical Studies office on the isle? I suppose I should simply head there.'_

It was located in the heart of the village, after all, near the housing for non-Champion visitors and the eatery, and it would be a simple enough detour to head there first. Perhaps that would be the right thing to do, given that he _was_ a Champion?

From the materials he had received prior to arrival, he knew that the CAS was responsible for certifying judges as competent to sit on the judging panel, providing certifications of skill for the Champions, which the participating nations had agreed to honor as equivalent to something like an OWL or a NEWT, depending on how they performed in the preliminary demonstrations and the competition itself, and formally recognizing Champions as inventors of a potion, should they happen to come up with a new recipe during the Championship, making them eligible for royalties.

(For a small fee - which was usually negotiated as a percentage of sales or royalties, they were also willing to help with the process of adapting a potion that had been developed from the rare and powerful ingredients on the isle into a variant that could be brewed with more common ingredients)

 _'If I remember, Rachelle Lestrange's ancestor was the Founder and first Director of the Centre,'_ Shinji mused, frowning as he considered, again, just how outmatched he probably was - not that he wouldn't give the competition the good old Hogwarts try. _'I wonder...could I register my Potion of Fading with them? Or maybe get some advice about how to adapt it so it wouldn't require kodama bark and a sample of my blood?'_

Or maybe he could just describe the effects of the Potion of Fading as something he had encountered, and ask them if they'd heard of something like that before, or what would cause such a thing?

 _'Actually, that sounds like a good idea. I did ask Tomas about it, but while he was willing to teach me some more applications of blood, he wasn't exactly looking for alternatives...'_

* * *

As he walked along the path, it was not without some self-recrimination that Shinji reflected that he'd become somewhat dependent on Zelkova to help him explore new environments and to seek specific individuals therein. At Hogwarts, this wouldn't have been an issue as there were only so many places people tended to be. Luna, for example, was usually in the Room of Requirement when she wasn't in class or dealing with Ourea duties, just as Pansy, if she was at Hogwarts, was usually in Lockhart's office or the Ourea quarters, but on this island which – as he reached out – felt _strange_ to his senses, he had nothing to go off of.

Well, nothing to go off on except for the knowledge that she was checking in to the housing facilities for guests, and since he didn't know how long she'd be, it couldn't hurt to visit the CAS office first.

Or so he told himself, at any rate.

As he walked, he took note of the architecture, noting how...odd it was. The buildings here didn't seem to have been crafted of brick or planks of wood, or assembled from pieces of stone. Instead, they were single-piece designs of an odd lightness and smoothness that he found eerie.

There was stone, yes, and there was wood, but those were woven together almost…organically.

 _'Almost like they were raised, full-formed, from the earth, or...grown, with the streets likewise seeming...sculpted.'_

Every other place he'd lived had showed signs of human thought and limits in its crafting and design, showed the signs of tool use, and the regularity of artificial angles, but this place – did not.

Why?

 _'Sokaris did say it was a remnant of the Age of Gods, so I wonder if some things are possible on this island that just aren't possible elsewhere. Or if there's something else here besides us, watching what we do...?'_

That was admittedly, not the most comfortable of thoughts, but Matou Shinji had long come to terms with the fact that no matter what he did, and where he went, there would be eyes upon him, even if they were only the eyes of the self that observed the self. So, too, he'd resolved to hold himself to the standard of what Sokaris would do – what she would value – what she would deem right, even when the alternative was quite tempting.

His refusal of Tohsaka's offer, much earlier in the year, had been one example of this. He could have given in, accepted a bit of momentary pleasure, taken everything she had to offer, but if he'd done that, he wouldn't be someone that Sokaris would want anything to do with.

And frankly, there was no one else whose opinion – whose judgement – mattered more to him in this world than that of his patron.

Distracted by his musing, he did not notice another somewhat familiar individual as she passed him – a tall, curvaceous blonde in a simple dress of sky blue and an ornament like an azure butterfly perched in her hair.

She nodded to him, and he absently to her, though the action didn't really register for him.

Later, he would wonder if she was someone's guest, or perhaps the American Champion, someone he'd only ever met briefly – with most of that experience being spent watching her perform a pregame spectacle for the quarter-finals of the Quidditch World Cup with Sajyou-san.

But for the moment, such things were not on his mind, as he approached the building that was labeled as belonging to the Center of Alchemical Studies, an impressive black edifice seemingly wrought of a single piece of obsidian, adjacent to a courtyard whose centerpiece was a statue of a giant holding up the world.

Shinji quirked an eyebrow at this unexpected sight as he passed the statue, studying his surroundings as he made his way to the door – or at least, where he presumed the door would be, given that it was where the path ended. Yet, when he looked, there was visible means of entry. No door, no doorknob, and no bell to signal someone that he was there.

 _'Huh. How do I get in?'_ he'd just started to wonder before a piece of the wall simply slid aside, wordlessly beckoning him inwards. Blinking, he steeled his courage and accepted the unspoken invitation, taking a few tentative steps inside, as the building sealed itself behind him.

Inside, there was more light than he'd expected from the outside, with shafts of sun unexpectly coming through what had seemed solid stone, and much more in the way of open space and warmth than clutter and cold stone.

That and…

 _'Is it bigger on the inside?'_

From outside, it hadn't seemed big enough to hold racks upon racks of books, rooms full of strange alchemical instruments, several desks and lab benches, or of course, the central couch on which Aozaki Touko, the woman who was apparently the CAS repre—

' _Wait_. What.'

Matou Shinji blinked and looked again, but the figure lounging on the couch before him remained the same: a red-haired red-eyed woman in her late twenties clad in a white shirt that almost glowed in the light, pitch-black slacks, and a rather familiar orange jacket, who was puffing away on cheap Taiwanese cigarette.

"Ah, another visitor, and this one, the British Champion we have heard so much about," the woman drawled, her blood-red eyes bright with amusement as she regarded him. "What brings you to this humble office?"

 _'...Master? What are you...?'_ he thought - almost asked aloud, really, until he thought better of it. Clearly if the magus was pretending not to know him, there had to be a reason for it.

Maybe everything happening in this building was being recorded for official reasons, and Touko did not want to betray the fact that they were already acquainted. That in fact, he used to be her provisional apprentice, since that would probably violate some conflict of interest clause in her contract.

"I was simply curious about who the Centre for Alchemical Studies had sent to observe this event," he responded. _'Or rather, who Sion had decided to send with my ticket...'_ "As a Champion, I thought it only appropriate that I introduce myself. You are acting as their representative, then?"

"I am indeed," Aozaki Touko replied, taking a long draw on her cigarette. "Along with my associate, Mister Peverell, a noted Potioneer who comes to us from _Mahoutokoro_."

"Good day, Champion," the crisp voice of Tomas said from behind him, with the puppet smirking slightly as Shinji almost _jumped_. "Is there something we can help you with today? Did you have some questions about the Centre, perhaps?"

"I was...just curious about the island, and thought you might know a bit about this place, since the CAS has sent observers to every Potions Championship," Shinji answered, thinking quickly. If the representatives were Tomas and his Master, he probably wouldn't be learning anything new about the Potion of Fading from them, but maybe... "There were some things about the architecture I found unusual. Oh, and I was wondering about some of the ingredients - if there was a list of what was available out in the wilds?"

"No complete list exists, I'm afraid," Aozaki Touko responded. "Though what I can tell you is that there are ingredients here which grow nowhere else on earth, and that even varieties that are found elsewhere seem to be more potent here. You are welcome to look through the journals and records kept by past Champions and see what you can learn from those, as well as peruse the partial catalog of ingredients that have been assembled over the years, but we cannot promise it is anywhere near complete. There are new ingredients discovered every year, and some, which although found once, have never been seen again."

"I see," Shinji murmured. "That certainly makes things more challenging."

"Yes, it would, but part of the Championship is how one responds to such a challenge, after all. At the Center for Alchemical studies, we are interested in the choices of the chosen few, and their reasoning for those choices, as well as the outcomes. Will you form an alliance with others? Will you work alone? Will you attempt to simply brew the best potion you can out of what you know? Will you experiment and attempt to make something new? All these things we take into consideration." The red-haired magus smiled thinly. "Of course, we also do like to record the motivations of the Champions, as what drives a person can often be a great insight into who they are and where they will go in the end. So, tell me, what drives you, Matou Shinji? What do you seek?"

"Mine?" Shinji inquired, raising an eyebrow, as he fought off the perverse impulse to answer "True Wisdom", as he had to a dream-version of his former Master. "I became a Champion to honor an old friend, who taught me much about Alchemy and its power. Sokaris was her name, and she was the most brilliant person I have ever known. It is my hope, my aspiration, that one day I might be able to stand on the same playing field she does, to reach a level that she might...might have...approved of, to be worthy of her." He paused. "…of her memory," he added, recalling that as far as Britain knew, the person named "Sokaris" was long dead.

"She means much to you, this 'Sokaris.'"

"More than anyone ever has," the boy answered solemnly. "Or ever will. Without her, I would be nothing. A powerless corpse pretending to be alive. She…she gave me hope. Showed me that I could be more than what I was. That even for someone as broken as I was, there was a place where I could belong."

"I'm sure she would be happy to hear that, were she still around," the puppeteer acknowledged, noting the fervor with which the boy spoke. That level of dedication was beyond what she expected of anyone, even her old apprentice, who she knew had some interest in the Director of Atlas. "Is there anything else that I, or Mister Peverell, can do for you?"

Aside from lowering his mental defenses and repeating over and over in his head that he would like a meeting to find out _what exactly_ Tomas was doing here, Shinji couldn't think of anything else pressing.

"No, I just wanted to introduce myself and to meet the fine representatives of the Centre," he said smoothly. "I should probably go. I don't want to take too much of your valuable time, after all, and there are things to do before the Opening Ceremonies tonight."

"Well, no fear of that," Tomas Peverell answered, circling around to stand next to his Master. "The ceremonies are some hours off yet, so I encourage you to explore what you can of the town. You will be here for some weeks, after all." The puppet paused before adding, almost as an afterthought, "Oh, and, if you're looking for your lady friend, you will find her at the main eatery with the French Champion and her companion."

Shinji felt a frisson of unease pass through him as he heard this, but dismissed it as he took his leave.

"Feel free to drop by anytime," Tomas called to him as he left, but the boy barely heard, as he hurried to the eatery, hoping that his worries of dire things would be unfounded.

* * *

As it turned out, perhaps he had been panicking for no reason, for when he stumbled across Luna, she was sitting at a table at the Cafe with Rachelle Lestrange and the young blonde from earlier, and at first glance, in good spirits. Indeed, Luna seemed to be discussing Crumple-Horned Snorkacks with a wide-eyed Gabrielle, with Lestrange wondering aloud whether such a beast might be found on this odd island.

As he approached though, they paused, turning as one to regard him.

"Matou," the Beauxbatons Champion greeted. "You have found us."

"Rachelle," the boy said in turn, swallowing once again, as his eyes involuntarily traced curves accentuated by her rather risque dress. "You...look nice. That dress is very...becoming on you."

"Vraiment?" the French alchemist inquired dryly, something like a smirk playing across her lips. "I 'ad not noticed, vith 'ow everyone stares."

"I see you've met Luna, my...companion," Matou noted, glancing over at his fellow Stone Cutter to find that she seemed much the same as usual.

"Indeed," Rachelle Lestrange answered wryly. "You did not say zat such a lovely young woman vas your...confidante and closest friend." The Alchemist shook her head, turning her attention to the young girl she'd brought with her to the island, who had been eating some kind of fish stew, from the smell of it. "Gabrielle, allow me to introduce you to your soeur's companion and hero, Matou Shinji," she said, gesturing between him and the young girl. "Matou, Gabrielle Delacour."

"Enchanté, mademoiselle," the boy said with a gallant bow, as he lifted the young girl's hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "It is a pleasure to meet Fleur's little sister. I'm sure you'll grow up to be just as beautiful and charming as she is when you're her age."

"Ah! Vous êtes Matou Shinji!" the young apparently part-Veela bubbled and colored prettily, almost jumping up in her seat, manners forgotten. With some amusement, Shinji thought he could almost feel the happiness radiating from her, a smile tugging at his lips before he remembered to keep his mental defenses reinforced. "Rachelle has told me much of vat you did for Fleur. And zere 'ave been beaucoup d'articles dans _La Vérité_!"

"...articles, eh?" Shinji echoed, fighting a wince of pain as he remembered how the Daily Prophet had characterized him. "Only covering good things, I hope?"

"Zere vas talk of naming you a chevalier," Rachelle supplied, the odd smile never quite leaving her lips.

"A...chevalier," Shinji echoed, narrowing his eyes. "Do...you mean, a knight?"

"Oui. A chevalier of l'Ordre du Lac, for zose who are seen embody ze ideals of Lancelot du Lac in modern times. In your case, for standing against ze oppressive regime of ze British Ministry to defend Fleur, l'Etoile de Beauxbatons." Rachelle chuckled, a dainty sound that did not fit at all with how dangerous he knew her to be. "Zey 'ave not decided on vether or not to go vith it yet. Perhaps if you survive ze competition..."

"...it does all come back to that, doesn't it?"

" _Naturellement_." The countenance of Lestrange grew somewhat more serious as she regarded him. "Matou, you are velcome to join us for le déjeuner, but I 'ave other business to conduct on ze island before ze opening ceremonies after zis."

"That's fine," Shinji remarked. "Actually, I was going to go around the island with Luna," he added, glancing at Luna, who smiled at this. "I know she was curious about all this place had to offer. As am I, really."

"Mm...I see," Rachelle noted. "Zen could I ask a favour of you, Chevalier Matou?" she inquired teasingly, her voice just sultry enough that it made him _shiver_ , despite every ounce of self-control he possessed. Thought he possessed.

"Y-yes, w-what can I do for you, Rachelle?" Shinji said, licking his lips unconsciously.

"Could you take Gabrielle along vith you?" the Alchemist asked, her bright eyes looking into his and nearly stealing his breath away. "She 'as vanted to meet you for so long, and she too is curious about ze Isle of Thule. I suspect she vould be bored vith a visit to ze CAS, and zere is much I need to discuss vith zem. So what say you, Chevalier?"

"I-I would be happy to," came the response, with the boy falling over himself to accept almost before she'd stopped speaking.

After all, if there was one fatal weakness that Matou Shinji possessed in spades, it was that, being a male teenager, he found it nearly impossible to refuse requests from attractive members of the opposite sex. Occasionally, of course, he mustered the will to say no if what was being asked of him was particularly outlandish and the person making the request wasn't particularly someone he cared about, but neither of those was the case here.

After all, Rachelle Lestrange was quite well known to him, and in the bit of his mind that wasn't driven to distraction from a combination of exposure to...that dress and the delightful sensuality that only a French witch could muster, Shinji couldn't see anything too odd about what she wanted. Teasing aside, it just meant that she trusted him, he thought, since surely, she wouldn't ask just anyone to take Fleur's sister around the isle. And even if he hadn't planned on going around with anyone else but Luna, surely it couldn't hurt, since Luna already seemed to be on good terms with Gabrielle.

So, he agreed to the request, before joining the lovely trio for a hearty lunch of _poule au pot_ \- a traditional French dish consisting of a hen stuffed with diced carrots, turnips, leeks, onions, and cloves and various cuts of beef, all covered with water and brought to boil in a pot. Perhaps it was simple, especially compared to something like bouillabaisse, which distinguished itself from other fish stews by the use of Provençal herbs and spices in the broth, the use of bony local Mediterranean fish, the way the fish are added one at a time, and brought to a boil, and the method of serving, with the fish on the side, but it was a dish laden with meaning all the same.

The peasantry remembered it as a symbol of the prosperity promised to them, as Henri IV - also known as Good King Henry by the less fortunate - the man who had ended the decades of religious war in France by issuing the Edict of Nantes, granting concessions to Protestants (and minorities in general), had famously sworn that not even the lowest plowman in his realm would lack the means to afford a chicken in the pot every Sunday. His reign had been one of peace and prosperity for France, recognized even by European wizards, as his reign had preceded the disastrous Thirty Years War (1618-48) and the Nine Years War (1688-97), in which his successors had embroiled France.

(The Statute of Secrecy, for reference, was first signed in 1689 and ratified by a majority of the then-members of the International Confederation of Warlocks in 1692, following the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, and the beginning of the Nine Years War, a conflict in which the flintlock musket began to replace the cumbersome matchlock as the weapon of choice for Continental armies.)

Thus, to French wizards, like most of the French populace, the poule au pot was a promise of prosperity and success, and eating it before a competition was not unlike the Japanese tradition of eating a katsudon before an exam, given that katsu (cutlet) was a homophone of katsu, the verb meaning "to win."

(Likewise, for the French peasantry, the symbolic value of the poule au pot was such that it became the subject of one of the songs of the Revolution, with the people singing that finally, they would be able to put a chicken in the pot, and dispense with the ceaseless plucking - that finally, they would take what had been promised them, that their chains would be broken and all men would have their reward - if said somewhat more prosaically.)

The conversation at the table did not hit on any of these weighty topics, however, simply covering their thoughts on the competition, goings-ons in France and Britain, and of course, an exchange of gifts, with Shinji giving Rachelle the necromantic tomes he had acquired from the Black Estate auction the previous year as repayment for her help in retrieving the _tanuki_ , and she in turn giving him a cravat which matched the color of his battle robes.

"What's this?" Shinji asked, as he looked down at the length of grey, shimmering fabric.

"Added protection for your neck, given your tendency to make enemies," the Champion of Beauxbations replied with a hint of amusement, to which Shinji winced, as there was some truth in what she said. "It vould not do for you to lose your 'ead."

"Heh…thanks," he said after a few moments. It was his hope that he wouldn't be making more enemies on the island, but…who knew what might happen.

' _I have to find out more about everyone else here and what their own motivations are.'_

He was certainly curious about the Russian Champion, Mischa Stukov, who, if Slughorn's article had been correct, was a prodigy at Alchemy, and descended from a hero who had vanquished Russia's greatest Dark Lord, though the others interested him as well.

' _Ah well, there will be time enough in these weeks…'_

The meal continued after that, with Shinji concluding that French fare was rather tastier and less heavy in the stomach than that of Britain, with Rachelle simply nodding.

"We'd better enjoy the food here while we can," the Boy from the East mused aloud. "I doubt we'll have much of a chance once we're out in the wilds."

And even if he'd become somewhat proficient at scavenging plants and preparing something from them, he wasn't sure how useful his knowledge would be here, as he didn't know _what_ the wilds of the island were like.

What plants grew here? Were things affected by the greater density of prana? What was safe to eat and what wasn't?

' _I suppose that's why we have so many preliminaries that involve cooking and working with a selection of ingredients that have been pre-fetched from the wilds.'_

It would be a busy two weeks before they were even allowed to set foot into the greater island, as the Potions Committee apparently wanted to make sure each Champion had a fair chance at learning the dangers – and ensure that they could be thoroughly evaluated by the CAS representatives.

' _Speaking of which, I do have to wonder how accurate Slughorn's article was about my competitors, though…'_

Just who _were_ the people he'd be competing against? Those he might be working with? Those he might end up fighting to the death, if things really went south?

He knew two of them – the representatives of _Mahoutokoro_ and Beauxbatons – fairly well, one – the Champion of Durstrang – moderately so, and had met the American Champion in passing, but the rest…?

' _Well, if nothing else, it should be interesting.'_

That last was about the only conclusion reached by the table as the meal drew to an end, and the Champion of Beauxbatons headed off to handle her other business, leaving Gabrielle in the company of her sister's knight and his companion.

As one might have expected of a curious young girl, she had a question for him, as she looked at him with innocent eyes that were as yet unsullied by depravities of the world.

"Mm…Monsieur le Chevalier, ven will you marry my sister?"


	71. Song of the Ancients

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 70.** _Song of the Ancients_

Upon materializing at the arrival area of the Isle of Thule, Elesa Labelle, Champion of Ilvermorny, felt a curious sense of peace as the sounds and smells of the isle washed over her.

' _Or perhaps it's simply the density and texture of the prana in the air,'_ she mused as she savored the warmth of this place, a far cry from New York in the middle of winter. _'It's a bit nostalgic, actually, to be standing on remnant of the past.'_

That it was a remnant there could be no mistake, as the background level of magical energy was higher than could be found in most places in the modern world, except for areas brought under the sway of Outer Gods (or which their followers were attempting to turn into gates or summoning portals), within the atelier of magi, or of course, within the mysterious realm that served as the circulation system of Gaia – though the last was hardly something of the modern world.

After some moments, she opened her eyes, taking in the slim lines of force which denoted the presence of a very powerful barrier in the distance, isolating the arrival area and what she assumed was the village, from the rest of the island.

She imagined that her thunderbird familiar, Haokah, which had rendered itself invisible thanks to its ability to manipulate the wind, could feel it too – and so knew not to brave it, as what passed through one way might not be able to return without permission.

Still…

' _Well, we're here. Let's gather some useful data, hm?'_

' _So, mote it be,'_ a voice like thunder rumbled in her mind. _'This one will do its duty.'_

' _See that you do, Haokah,'_ she noted, almost fondly, as the invisible bird took flight, sharing its senses with her to provide her with some idea of the area's layout.

* * *

' _The Champion of Ideals has arrived on the Isle, Master,'_ a gentle voice murmured in the mind of Sajyou Ayaka, Representative of _Mahoutokoro_ , just as she was obtaining a room for herself in the housing set aside for the Champions.

' _I see. Thank you, Yatagarasu. Watch over everything, please.'_

There was no reply, but then, she hadn't really expected one, as her familiar was not much of a conversationalist. But then, with the exception of _kitsune_ like her Master, and the occasional _kodama,_ the oldest of the youkai weren't, as they weren't as much individuals as concepts given form. Whether that was a result of their natures, or simply that of time wearing away everything but the essence of what they were, she didn't know, only that the older they became, the more difficult it was for normal humans to communicate with them.

Indeed, some could no longer survive in the world as it was, and had departed it for the Other Side, where mystery and prana were far thicker, if somewhat toxic if one was not more spirit than flesh – or at least, could not shed their fleshly shells.

' _And yet some remain.'_

This place, for instance, which some called the Isle of Thule – a place that was of the world, yet separated from it, kept apart from the common sense of man. A place where beasts which could not shed their flesh yet remained, along with plants and other relics of a distant age.

The village and the Champion housing area were not quite as alien as the area outside of it, however, and in some ways, it felt…familiar, as if she was back in _Mahoutokoro_.

' _A place of boundaries and ways, under the supervision of a single will.'_

In _Mahoutokoro,_ the one who quietly watched over all things was the Maiden of the Tree.

Here, though, Ayaka could not be certain who – or what – her equivalent was, although she was certain one existed.

' _Master would know, perhaps.'_

The _kitsune_ who had raised her after she lost her family had always been a wise one, after all, and no doubt had his reasons for encouraging her to take up the position of Champion. He knew more than he let on, and unlike many others of his race, did not live frivolously.

While thinking about this, she received a slip of paper with the room assigned to her – Room 403, and proceeded up the stairs to it, with what little luggage she had floating behind her.

' _Even here, prana flows…'_

It was strange, but apparently the housing complex was something alive – something like a tree that had been grown in a shape that resembled an apartment block from the West. Something that learned the magical signatures of those who were to be Champions, and granted them access.

Just so, as she arrived at room 403, the circular door set into the wall opened for her, its panels retracting into the frame as if it was the pupil of a great eye.

What awaited her inside was considerably more luxurious than she had come to expect from housing in a so-called dormitory, given that the room assigned to her was essentially a suite painted in cool, soothing tones of blue and white, with a comfortable bedroom, bathroom, meditation space, living area, kitchen, and potions lab.

A place full of light, with fresh air and a temperature neither too hot nor too cold, adapting precisely to the desires of the one assigned to the room.

Her stay here would certainly not be unpleasant, to say the least, at least not physically.

How things would turn out with the other Champions…well, that was yet to be determined. She was a skilled witch and potioneer, a master of woodcraft and foraging, and the favorite to become Champion of the World, but…

' _I am not…good with people.'_

Yes. That was her weakness.

Had been her weakness since the death of her family and the…unpleasantness she had faced at her…sister's hands.

The young woman sighed and shook her head.

Perhaps before doing anything else, she would enjoy a dip in the hot springs to wash away the fatigue of her long journey – that is, her pilgrimage around all of Japan, visiting its holy sites and shrines, gaining the blessing of the various _youkai_ and _kami_ of the land, which she had only just completed before coming here via portkey.

* * *

"Mm…Monsieur le Chevalier, ven will you marry my sister?"

"I…" Shinji automatically began to respond, only to freeze as his mind finished processing the words of Gabrielle Delaour.

 _'How...how can she just ask me that?'_ the boy wondered, looking at the expectant face of the part-Veela. _'Me? Marry Fleur? She isn't even - I'm not even...I...'_

Yes, there were rumors about him, and far too many things written in the paper by an unscrupulous press, but…

 _'Master.'_

…thankful for the distraction, Shinji seized upon Zelkova's mental voice.

' _What is it, Zelkova?'_

' _As requested, I have taken your items to the room to which you were assigned, and have established a basic bounded field around its perimeter.'_

' _Excellent. Did you have any trouble finding it?'_

'… _unexpectedly, yes.'_

' _How unlike you,'_ Shinji thought dryly. _'I don't recall you having trouble finding your way, even at Hogwarts.'_

' _Ah, but Master, Hogwarts was a castle raised by practitioners of witchcraft,'_ came the polite reply. _'Walking in this place is like being inside a hollow tree.'_

'… _a tree, you say? I_ did _get the impression that buildings in this town seemed to have been grown, instead of built, but… '_ The boy from the east sighed silently. '… _that is a matter to investigate later. Anyway, thank you. Was there anything else?_ '

' _Ýes. Master,'_ the _kodama_ continued. ' _Sajyou-san was assigned to the room next to yours, and is headed for the hot springs, where the Russian Champion and the Champion of Durmstrang are already present. The youth named Olu, who led me to the housing area, has already left after being ignored by Sajyou-san.'_

' _Heh. Maybe he's not quite as good with women as he thinks, eh?'_ Shinji couldn't help but think to himself, careful not to direct his thoughts towards Zelkova.

How successful he was, he was unsure, given that despite his best efforts, the Champion of Hogwarts had never exactly been good at subtlety, and that he could feel a bit of curiosity over the mental link.

Still, his familiar seemed too polite not to just come out and ask, at least, or perhaps simply thought that if it was relevant, Shinji would tell him.

 _'Is there anything else you wish of me, Master?'_ was what the _kodama_ inquired instead. _'Should I return to your side? Or is there some other action you desire of me?'_

It was tempting, sorely so, to have Zelkova join him, as he had a feeling that his familiar was a bit better at dealing with these sorts of things than he was – and even if the _kodama_ wasn't, Shinji thought the distraction of a cute fox might well be enough to distract Gabrielle from this line of inquiry.

But he thought better of it.

Distracting Gabrielle would only put off the inevitable, after all, and if she were to ask again later, when more people were around, that could be…inconvenient, to put it mildly.

It was also tempting to ask Zelkova to become his doppelganger and wander about, throwing off anyone who might be trying to ascertain his whereabouts, but Zelkova's way of thinking was also quite different from his, and he didn't want any misunderstandings to result from people seeing two Shinjis acting quite different.

' _If you could, greet Sajyou-san for me, please,'_ was all he managed to come up with in the end. _'I'll handle things here.'_

Or at least, he thought he could, but...

"Monsieur le Chevalier…?" Gabrielle Delacour was repeating while peering at him with a worried expression. "Are you unvell? You seemed far away, monsieur…"

Shinji almost – almost – winced.

' _That's right, she can't hear Zelkova, so she must have thought that I was just shocked by her words.'_

Which he was, in all honesty, as he didn't know how to reply to the young French girl.

"My apologies," he found himself for saying. "As for when I will marry your sister…"

The boy trailed off once again, as there wasn't a good answer he could think of. Not for this situation. Not when he was faced with innocent eyes, brimming with such curiosity – eyes that seemed to believe in him and think the world of him. Eyes that seemed to trust that he would never say anything painful.

"I…" he began again, only for his voice to betray him as he swallowed. "I…"

"When they will marry should be a matter for the two of them, and the two of them alone," a voice cut in, clear as a bell and for once, not quite so languid or dreamy. "Not for anyone else to know until it is time."

' _Luna…?'_

"But I…"

"If he told you, you'd want to tell your sister, right? Because you were excited?"

"Oui?" Gabrielle looked a little uneasy.

"Have you ever had someone spoil a surprise for you by saying too much?"

"…zits a secret, zen?"

"A secret between the two of them, yes," Luna answered.

"Ah, je vois," Gabrielle murmured, nodding. "Je suis désolée. I 'ad not realized."

"You were excited. There's no shame in that," Luna replied warmly, while patting Gabrielle's head. "Shall we walk around a bit with ' _Monsieur le Chevalier_ '?" she asked, glancing over at the Japanese boy, who colored slightly at her gaze.

The young part-Veela agreed, and the three of them set off for a walk about the village, with Shinji finding himself thinking that Luna would make a great mother one day.

…and that she really was more forgiving and far kinder than he deserved.

* * *

She stood atop the ebon walls of the village, gazing out at the vast expanse of forest that covered most of the isle, and the creatures that flew above it. Wyverns, occamies, swooping evils, thestrals, even things like pterosaurs and overgrown dragonflies – all of these soared and swooped and made their way about without a care.

' _No, that's not quite right.'_

Looking more closely, Elesa could see that there was an area in the distance over which nothing flew, an area from which the forest shrank: a clearing dotted with ruins, dominated by the wreckage of a bone-white spire.

Was there a bounded field or some such keeping the wilds from encroaching upon those ancient relics? She didn't know, as she couldn't sense such things from behind the boundary of the village, but it was possible.

' _In any case, I have a destination in mind, once the Champions are permitted to set out into the wilds for the Championship.'_

But that was still some ways off. For now, there were preliminaries to handle, people to network with, intelligence to collect and an Opening Ceremony to prepare for.

' _It will be pleasant to speak to the World Champion again. She is thoroughly competent, but I would expect that of someone who was poached by my masters.'_

Yumi Rosa Maria Picasso Suzuki, the representative of Castelobruxo, who had claimed victory in the Potions Championship seven years prior, had been a rare prodigy at both Herbology and brewing, with a knack for creating unique concoctions using unorthodox combinations of common ingredients.

Her masterpiece – what had allowed her to defeat the others – had been a potion which negated the curses, enchantments, or such cast on people or objects, and could dissolve the weak connections that bound lost souls to specific locations. Of course, the Elixir of Dissolution could not be used to destroy an object with a high level of mystery, such an altar being used by worshippers of the Outer Gods, but, at the very least, it could be used to suppress its effects – something that Elesa's fellow operatives had found useful on occasion.

' _I have not had the privilege of working with her personally, but then it was Ramona who was selected to receive her tutelage.'_

Ramona Ahgeak, Champion of Qausuittuq, a girl who had been her comrade during some of the recent unpleasantness in the north. A member of the Taġiuġmiut, the People of the Sea, Ramona, like her mentor, was skilled at finding uses for things others ignored and combinations that others left untried, and had the benefit of a year of experience as part of an exchange program with the Ever-Distant Fleet.

' _With navigation training coupled with her divination abilities, she might well have a leg up on finding ingredients and deciding who is trustworthy.'_

Amusingly, at least to her, the distant ancestors of the Inupiat people, to which the Taġiuġmiut belonged, were currently referred to as the Thule by modern scholars, since their archeological remains had first been discovered at a place that had – at the time – borne the name.

' _Not that the name means much, since it appears so much in antiquity, and has been used to refer to Norway, Iceland, Orkney, and other places. Still, it irks Ramona when I say she's just coming home.'_

They would be acting independently for the duration of their stay on the isle, of course.

Ramona was the one who had been trained and honed as a true Potions Champion.

Elesa, though Champion of Ilvermorny, had not received special training – at least not in herblore or brewing. Her tasks numbered three: 1) investigate the secrets of the moving isle, 2) network with other Champions to scout out promising recruits for her faction, and 3) serve as a distraction to draw the eyes of others away from Ramona – which was the reason she was dressed in a dress of sky blue and white, with lightning shaped into the form of an azure butterfly perched in her hair like an ornament.

Well, four tasks really, if one considered that she was supposed to do her best at potioneering as well, but she figured that was a given.

She smiled slightly as a voice rumbled in her mind, returning her to the present.

' _The one called Yatagarasu has joined this one above,'_ her thunderbird familiar related to her.

Elesa glanced upwards, seeing no sign of the three-legged crow that was the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ 's familiar, but then, she hadn't expected to, as she knew the ancient bird could

render itself invisible thanks to its ability to manipulate light (and heat, and other forms of energy).

' _Thank you, Haokah,'_ she replied silently.

She would be seeing the Japanese Champion soon enough, she imagined, as there were things between them that needed to be discussed, but that was a matter for another time.

For now, she thought she would simply enjoy the breeze, the view, and what few moments of leisure she had before she was thrust once more into the spotlight.

* * *

To Sajyou Ayaka, there were few things as relaxing as a thorough soak in an open-air hot spring, letting the waters soothe away the aches of her muscles, even as the contrast of the warm mist lingering above the surface, and the cool air above that kepther alert and awake.

She had made use of many such things during her long pilgrimage, the journey she had undertaken to prepare herself for the rigors of the Championship, so she imagined that she knew something about what made for a quality experience.

One, Kamuiwakka in Hokkaido, at the very edge of Japan, stood out in her memory as one that was nearly sacred, with waters rich with prana and vitality, waters that could heal not just the body, but the soul.

The springs on this isle were not quite so potent, but they were refreshing nonetheless, as she allowed her body to sink beneath the surface with barely a sound.

"Ah, I was wondering when someone else would join me," came a husky contralto, belonging to a poorly seen silhouette on the other side of the pool in which she was submerged _._ "Given where we are, I'd imagine you are the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ , yes?"

"And you are of Durmstrang?" Ayaka asked, trading a question for a question.

"I am indeed," the voice replied. "Rachelle Sondrol, Champion of Durmstrang, at your service."

"Sajyou Ayaka." The Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ raised an eyebrow. "I did not think others would make use of the baths so quickly. It is not simply a Japanese tradition, then?"

"It is a tradition among the Nordic people as well," came the reply. "Though some of Europe thought us barbarians, we were a cleaner lot than the rest of them." There was a quiet chuckle, and then. "Even old Snorri would relax in the hot springs for hours at a time."

Snorri, of course, being the long-dead Snorri Sturluson, the Icelandic Chieftain who had written the Prose Edda and the Heimskringla.

"I see."

"Aside from that, well, its winter in Durmstang, so you cannot fault me for seeking somewhere warm, can you?"

"I…cannot," Ayaka intoned solemnly. "Not when I am here as well."

The two simply enjoyed the baths in silence for some time, closing their eyes and reveling in the warm embrace of the prana-rich waters.

"I have to say, this is probably the most comfortable spring I've been in, with how it heals so well," Sondrol commented. "It is rather more splendid than those at Durmstrang. And how is it for you?"

"Soothing," came the one-word reply.

"More so than those of _Mahoutokoro_?"

"There are none in the City Under Earth," Ayaka responded, with only a trace of bitterness. "To visit a spring requires a journey."

"Oh? So you go a viking for comfort, eh?" Rachelle Sondrol said dryly. "My ancestors would come quite a way to enjoy a bath themselves. I suppose that's not really practical at Durmstrang, though, given where we are."

"The land of Old Night."

"More or less. Not Fimbulwinter yet, at least," the other replied. Shaking her head, she trailed off, only to think of something after some moments. "Actually, I had the chance to meet one of your countrymen while at school. A certain Matou Shinji." She glanced over at Ayaka's silhouette speculatively. "Do you know him?"

"Mm."

"Is he always as reckless as he seems?"

"More."

"Hah. Is that so…?"


	72. Moonlight Sonata

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 71.** _Moonlight Sonata_

In the great amphitheater on the Isle of Thule, two figures danced under the light of the moon, a strange, ethereal melody filling the air as they moved to a timeless rhythm, purposeful yet carefree, their movements seemingly effortless and meandering, for all that they never fell out of sync with the music.

One was a golden-eyed boy dressed all in white – white waistcoat, white starched shirt, white bow-tie, high-waisted white trousers, even white leather shoes – with a crown of white horn-like branches, a filigree of silver vines twined about his limbs, and trails of night-colored prana clinging to the contours of his form.

The other was a silver-eyed girl in a midnight blue furisode chased with a pattern of falling silver stars, with pure white ears like those of a fox peeking out from a head of silver-blonde hair, a fluffy white tail protruding from her derriere, and golden light trailing from her with every movement she made.

Their steps carried them across the ground – and when the ground grew uneven it was not they that moved to the world's whims but the world that moved to theirs, with columns of earth rising to meet their feet, so no matter where they stepped, or when, they always had someplace to go, someplace to stand.

And then they left the earth entirely, stepping into thin air, with runes of light materializing to support them, and motes of foxfire, almost like fireflies, swirling round them, as their dance carried them higher, higher, higher into the sky in a dazzling display of light and shadow.

To everyone else, it was as if the two were suspended in the air twixt heaven and earth, spinning through a field of stars, heedless of the stares of the audience, the presence of spirits and various bits of magic making a record of the goings-on, or anything else besides.

Many who were watching were taken aback.

None of them had expected something like _this_ from the British Representative, given how stodgy and mundane the last one had been, though with the rumors about this particular young man percolating about the media lately, it was hard to tell what was fact and what was fiction.

The only thing the audience knew for sure was that the fluid way the two moved, for all that it seemed free and spontaneous, and the sheer confidence and trust in each other that was so apparent, weren't normally seen without many, many hours of training. And since most practitioners of witchcraft didn't train their bodies as well as their minds, such a display raised questions as to why these two were an exception.

For that matter, non-verbal manipulation of magic in the manner they were displaying was… _non-trivial_ by the measure of any school or society, especially for people at the age the British Champion and his companion appeared to be. After all, while displays of non-verbal magic weren't exactly uncommon among adult practitioners, it usually required some kind of catalyst (say, the motion of a wand) or gesture, such as someone snapping their fingers, making a cutting action with their arms, or some such to act as a mental focus for the magic, but the onlookers could see nothing of the sort in what they were doing.

Unless, of course, the dance itself was some sort of magical ritual, like the Japanese _kagura,_ but magical Britain had such traditions.

As such, those in the audience tended to be of two minds when observing the youngest Champion and his companion. The vast majority, who had no idea of how the two could possibly accomplish such a thing, were somewhat impressed, thinking there had to be some kind trick to their admittedly spectacular display. The rest, who either knew what they could do or had some idea, given their own countries' magical traditions and the youngest Champion's alleged ties with Japan, were more thoughtful, as they considered the implications of this demonstration.

From the moment that the list of Champions had been made public, Matou Shinji had been regarded as a joke. A British rabbit to be devoured among the wolves, particularly given his age and lack of training compared to the rest – his presence almost an insult to the other competitors.

And yet…

The boy seemed perfectly comfortable to be dancing with his companion in front of some of the most respected and powerful practitioners of witchcraft in the entire world, which implied that he was either an overconfident fool, or that he was better prepared for a competition of this level than most had been given reason to believe.

Or of course, that he was putting on an act to keep his peers from considering him easy prey – though this last thought was quickly forgotten as the duo continued their waltz, stepping off the runic platforms, with nothing under their feet but the empty air.

' _Is this…unsupported flight?'_ was a thought that raced through the minds of some present. But that… _'No. It has to be the work of talented special effects wizards._ '

Or perhaps just a modified levitation spell, wordlessly cast on a harness hidden beneath their clothes. Yes. There were other explanations behind what they were seeing, after all.

Soon enough, the performance was over, with the two young people coming back to earth, flashing back and forth between each other's positions before they came together in the end, with the girl dipped low, yet held securely by one of the boy's deceptively slender arms.

Applause rang out, but even with the sounds of appreciation ringing out around them, it was easy to see that all they could see was each other, as if for the two of them, there was no one else in the world that mattered.

"An impressive first act," Kaiduka Shiosai, Second Owner of Kyoto, commented to the person beside him – the lovely American brunette who went by the name of Rebekah Huygens. The _kitsune_ currently wore the form in which he usually appeared when required to make public appearances – a black haired youth with blood-red eyes. "Would you not agree, Miss Huygens?"

"Given the individuals in question, certainly," the spirit pacification specialist allowed, as her lips curved upwards ever so slightly. "Though it makes me wonder what else the British Champion is hiding." She glanced over at the youth beside her. "Training from _Mahoutokoro_ perhaps?"

"If he was, I'm certain I would know," the _kitsune_ replied, a reply that really said nothing about Matou Shinji's capabilities.

"I'm sure you would, Master Kai," the American commented wryly, using the name he had given her when they had met. "In any case, according to the program, my country's Champion will perform next, and I do believe that will be a treat for the eyes."

"No doubt. I recall her performance at the Quidditch World Cup's quarter-final game well enough," Kaiduka noted. "In fact, Chairman Tsuchimikado had nothing but praise for it."

"Much as President Quahog appreciated the efforts of _Mahoutokoro's_ Sajyou Ayaka," the other replied smoothly.

"Well, now that we've gone and told each other just what others thought of our country's Champions, why don't we see how they do today, hm?"

"Fair. I doubt either will fail to impress."

"Ah, but being too impressive is just as dangerous as not impressing at all," the _kitsune_ pointed out. "After all, beyond a certain point, others in the audience are likely to dismiss something impressive as unbelievable, as a trick, as they will not believe someone so young capable of something of the sort."

"Unless, of course, one wants to be underestimated. In which case, such a tendency isn't as much a danger as it is an opportunity."

Kaiduka Shiosai's answer was a low, appreciative chuckle.

"Well said, Miss Huygens."

* * *

' _Butterflies?'_ Shinji mused, sitting back in the wake of the Champions' performances. _'I know Labelle used something similar at the Quidditch World Cup, but why else does they seem so familiar…?'_

After the conclusion of his own act, Matou Shinji and his companion had retired to the area aside for the British representative and guest, where he had taken to watching the other Champions' "talent demonstrations" for some clue about their preferences in combat, who they were as people, or any other useful details.

With a few exceptions, however, his efforts had proved unrewarding, as whatever combat potential most had shown off had been cloaked with spectacle enough to confuse his inexperienced mind.

The American Champion's performance, just as an example, had been something like an idol routine, with a stage full of azure and pink butterflies wrought of lightning accompanying her, swirling around her as she'd sung and danced, her voice enchanting, every movement bewitching to the eyes.

' _I thought idols were a Japanese thing, but I guess an American Idol isn't impossible…'_

Sajyou Ayaka, Champion of _Mahoutokoro,_ had done a traditional kagura dedicated to the god Tsukiyomi-no-mikoto, while dressed in the garb of a _miko_. With her hands, she'd spun the moonlight into fine silk threads, with the threads coming together as she moved, weaving themselves into the form of a weeping cherry tree which had grown and blossomed before everyone's eyes, with the grand finale being the wordless evocation of a breeze to accompany petals of light drifting from the tree out to the audience.

Ramona Ahgeak and Ka'aukai Kapule – the latter of which Shinji vaguely recognized as the Killer Whale Animagus he'd encountered in Tahiti, had done a choreographed transformation routine, showing off the various forms they were capable of borrowing.

Olu Akindele had used non-verbal magic to sculpt doppelgangers of his fellow Champions out of sand, and had then proceeded to animate them, making them do acrobatic stunts and tricks that most humans would have…difficulty with.

'… _those splits looked…painful.'_

Mischa Stukov had followed with a transfiguration-based act, changing the piles of sand that Olu left behind into a variety of bears, clad in tutus, who had proceeded to perform a selection from the _Nutcracker._ Shinji had been rather stunned to see bears dancing _en pointe,_ as he hadn't thought that was even _possible_.

The two Rachelles, Lestrange and Sondrol, had met blade to blade, with petite blonde and statuesque redhead showing their skill at the martial art of fencing. Lestrange had been dressed in white and red, wielding a silver rapier, while her opponent had worn all black, and had carried a longsword and a main gauche.

Two different styles had come together in a contest of skill, and as the two moved, flitting and darting about the stage, their swords had left behind trails of light, strikes coming one after another like a stream of stars falling from the sky.

It had been very brief, as battles often were, ending with the redhead bent but not bowed, eyes bright and cheeks flushed as the other disarmed her.

Libatius Müllerhad demonstrated his skills as a capoeirista with the help of his fiancée, a redhead apparently named Lily.

For the final act, Parambir Agarwal, Champion of _**Tamirsthana,**_ had demonstrated his mastery of the Kalaripayattu martial arts by dual-wielding _urumis –_ the infamous whip-swords that were nearly as dangerous to the wielder as to an enemy. Usually, they were nearly impossible to see as they cut through the air, but the youth had enchanted his so that they glowed, allowing the audience to witness the deftness and dexterity with which he wielded his blades.

' _Motion…he's always in motion without stopping, making a bubble around himself…'_ Shinji observed, frowning. Such a thing could be quite dangerous if he encountered the other in the field, even if the Indian Champion's weapon was merely mundane, and not quite a dangerous as Lestrange's soulblade _Deuillegivre._

And then the Opening Ceremonies drew to a close, with Yumi Rosa Maria Picasso Suzuki, the previous World Champion (whose name, Shinji thought, was rather a mouthful), declaring the Potions Championship to have begun in earnest.

"Did you enjoy seeing everyone on stage, Luna?" Shinji asked, turning to his companion. "All those displays and performances from around the world."

"Mm. There were all rather interesting. Sajyou-san's was particularly enchanting, though I thought the Russian Champion's was delightful too."

"…yes, you would enjoy seeing bears dance the ballet, wouldn't you, Luna?" he quipped, smiling warmly at his lover. "Did you enjoy his most then?"

"No…I preferred dancing with you," came the dream-like reply, as Shinji felt a powerful surge of affection for the girl beside him. "Shall we stay here? Or walk around…?"

The boy only sighed.

"Well, as much as I'd like to just walk around, I think as a Champion, I'm obligated to attend the afterparty," he said heavily, shaking his head. "The judges, CAS Representatives and other guests will be there, so I can't just skip it."

Well, he _could_ , but not without consequence.

"How about we just go for a bit, and then we can enjoy the island together, away from the crowd and prying eyes?" Matou Shinji inquired. "I'm sure Zelkova can show up once I leave and pick up any gossip, right?"

'… _if you insist, Master.'_

"Whatever we do is fine," Luna told him, her silver eyes warm with trust. "I'm happy as long as I'm with you."

* * *

Matou Shinji hadn't known exactly what he was getting into with this afterparty being thrown by the International Potions Committee. After all, the only events like it he was familiar with were the gala reception that Professor Snape had gone to years ago (and the man had seemed very unhappy), the afterparty for the Christmas Concert, and the Gala at the British Museum.

The event here easily matched the last in ostentation and decadence, though with more of an obvious magical flair, and with a guest list of just over 50 people from all the world.

It only struck him then what a privilege it was to even be on the Isle of Thule – and what it had meant that he had almost lost his position as Champion quite a few times.

'… _I knew there were only 11 Champions, but…'_

Just how exclusive a privilege it was to be here, even as a guest, was something he'd never really thought about, and for a moment, he found himself wondering what the stories of the others in the room were.

Who were they? How had they come to be here? Had they bought tickets? Did they know someone in the government of their nation – or were they themselves, perhaps an observer on behalf of their government?

Of those who weren't Champions, he recognized only six: Professor Slughorn, who was here on behalf of the _Daily Prophet_ ; Kaiduka Shiosai, the _kitsune_ who served the Maiden of the Tree – and was Sajyou-san's master; Gabrielle Delacour, the younger sister of Fleur Delacour of Beauxbaton – and apparently a large fan of his; Andreas Tørnquist, the sandy-haired youth who was Commander of Banner of Ravens; Aozaki Touko, his former Master, who was apparently here on behalf of the Center for Alchemical Studies, and of course, Tomas.

It made him a bit uncomfortable, but it wasn't as if he'd never walked into a situation like this before. The gala had been one such, though back then, he had come to the event under the patronage of the Director of Atlas, with the beautiful daughter of the Einzbern on his arm.

Here, he was one of the 11 Champions, which didn't have _quite_ the same status, especially given that of them, he _was_ the youngest.

Still…

"I'm going to go speak with Kaiduka-san and Sajyou-san," Luna murmured. "Find me when you're finished mingling."

With that, she walked off, leaving Shinji to the mercies of the crowd.

"Ah, Mister Matou," a voice called out, with the boy's head almost jerking as someone called his name. To his surprise, the one who had spoken was Elesa Labelle, seeming radiant in her dress of white and blue. The Champion of Ilvermorny was standing together with Ramona, the Champion of Qausuittuq, as well as the World Champion, whose name he didn't quite remember. "Come over and join us."

With nothing better to do, the boy agreed.

"Miss…Labelle, was it?" Shinji asked as he walked up to the trio. "That's twice now that I've enjoyed the pleasure of your company."

"And yet you're uncertain of my name?" the blonde quipped, putting a hand on her chest and looking away dramatically. "How scandalous. I must not have made much of an impression."

"Oh, oh, I…uh, not at all," the boy hastened to respond. "I uh…it's just…we didn't speak the first time, and this time, on stage you looked so…" His words spilled out in a rush, with the boy barely able to help himself. "Heh…"

Elesa chuckled at Shinji's entirely unfeigned antics.

"Relax, I was only teasing you," she said, as her lips quirked with amusement. "I enjoyed your display tonight. It was most enlightening, Mister Matou." She gestured to the two young women with her. "Tonight, I have to pleasure of introducing the Champion of Qausuittuq, Ramona Ahgeak, and the reigning World Champion, Yumi Rosa Maria Picasso Suzuki."

"Just Yumi, if you please, Elesa," the World Champion chimed in. The older woman glanced at the new arrival, noting that he was still in his "formalwear," vines and horns. "You may call me that as well, Mister Matou, though Miss Suzuki also works, if you insist on formality." She smiled, a bit coyly. "Or Onee-sama, if you insist on using Japanese."

The boy flushed deeply at the implication.

"It is an honor and a privilege, Miss Suzuki," Shinji said, dipping his head. "And likewise for you, Miss Ahgeak."

"Ramona works well enough, I find," the Champion of Qausuittuq noted mildly. "We're all Champions here, aren't we? We're all going be living and working together for the better part of a month, provided we don't all kill each other first."

"Well said," Yumi commented, favoring the Inupiat girl with a smile. "Though I rather hope none of you actually end up killing each other. There are dangers enough on this island without getting petty squabbles involved."

"…does that actually happen?" Shinji asked, blinking as his lips curved downwards. "Champions killing each other, I mean."

"Not often," the World Champion explained. "It's not exactly against the rules, but one is much more likely to die from a bad encounter with the wildlife, or from a brewing accident than from another Champion's actions. There are only eleven of you, after all – and not even that, in years before."

"How many were there in your year?" Shinji asked curiously.

"Only four," Yumi Suzuki admitted readily. " _Mahoutokoro,_ Castelobruxo, Koldovstoretz, Uagadou."

"And how many died?"

"Two."

Shinji froze for a moment. Two deaths, out of four Champions?

"I see…" the boy noted, glancing at his two competitors to find that neither of them were surprised by this piece of information. "May I ask who?"

"You wouldn't know their names, but those who died were from Koldovstoretz and Uagadou," Yumi elaborated. "Only the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ and I survived until the final round." The young woman raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of _Mahoutokoro,_ I wasn't aware Britain had any fusion users at all. Much less two of them."

' _What.'_

"Oh, don't be so surprised. My rival in the last Championship was one, and if you can't guess, half of my grandparents came from Japan," the World Champion stated.

"Only half?" the boy asked weakly. "I would have thought it was more than that."

After all, Yumi was a willowy, modestly endowed beauty with snow-white skin and raven-colored hair, and dressed in a _furisode,_ she seemed to be the very embodiment of the words _Yamato Nadeshiko_.

"Just half. I suppose I don't show much of my Spanish or Portuguese ancestry," she allowed. "Still, as I was saying, one of my grandmothers was even a fusion user."

"…I see," Shinji said, finding himself somewhat troubled that he'd been seen through so easily. "Though you're not one yourself, I assume?"

"I am not, no," Yumi replied evenly. "The secret of how one becomes a practitioner of that particular art is one that _Mahoutokoro_ guards jealously. I understand it has something to do with the nature of Japanese _youkai_ as compared to other magical beasts and spirits, but that's about as much as I know."

"Ah," the Boy from the East eloquently, looking away.

"It's no surprise to me that you have ties to _Mahoutokoro_ ," Elesa commented casually, her eyes seeming odd in the light. "After all, you were in the company of their Potions Champion at the Quidditch World Cup, were you not?"

"…that's not exactly a secret, is it?"

"Few things are, Mister Matou," the Champion of Ilvermorny said lightly. "Though speaking of secrets, I didn't know you had a…what is you Japanese people call it, a _koibito?_ One that wasn't the Etoile of Beauxbatons, anyway. _"_

"Hah…" Shinji laughed nervously. "I…well, that's all…you've read the papers about me, huh?"

"Naturally," the blonde asserted, crossing her arms. "It pays to know the competition, after all."

"I uh…heh…" the boy sighed. "I don't know exactly what was said in papers other than the _Daily Prophet,_ but, frankly, things were…bad in Britain after what happened at the Quidditch World Cup. Tempers were a bit high at Durmstrang, and well, after the two other schools' Champions were attacked, I stepped in to do what I could."

"See, Elesa? The papers can be wrong sometimes," Ramona said familiarly, receiving something like a swat on the side of the head for her trouble. "Why, if everything they said about either of us was true…"

"That's neither here nor there," Elesa offered as a rejoinder, before turning her attention back to Shinji. "I think we were complimenting Mister Matou on his lovely performance, yes?"

"Yes…especially the part where a British citizen has access to fusion," the World Champion noted. "I find _that_ most intriguing. I doubt such a thing would have been allowed, unless you had a family tie or some such, after all…"

Shinji, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the current line of questioning, tried to change the topic.

"Speaking of family," he said, not at all subtly. "Do you have relatives still in Japan, out of curiosity? I mean, Suzuki is a very common name, but I was wondering..."

"Am I related to Yoshihiro Suzuki?" Yumi supplied, raising an slender eyebrow. "The Chaser for the Japanese National Quidditch Team?"

"…that was who I was going to ask about, yes," Shinji admitted. "Not that I'm saying all Suzukis are related or anything, but—"

"Yoshihiro is my second cousin, though we've never met in person," Yumi said in reply. "Perhaps one of these days, if Brazil meets Japan in the quarter-finals, though I'm not especially interested in Quidditch. Never have been, really."

"Did you grow up in Brazil?" the boy inquired, his curiosity piqued. "I know you went to Castelobruxo, but they accept people from all over South America, don't they?"

"They do, yes," the World Champion quipped. "And yes, I grew up in Brazil, so I'm quite familiar with it. I consider it home, you know…after all, it would be quite a scandal if I were to represent a school and country I had no attachment to, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, I'm sure it would," Shinji agreed, though he couldn't quite meet Yumi's eyes. "What's it like, out of curiosity?"

"Castelobruxo?" the older Japanese woman inquired. "A ruin in the rainforest. Something like an ancient temple. It is not the most pleasant place to be in terms of climate, but one adapts."

"And since the school is the rainforest, you have all manner of flora and fauna there," Ramona Ahgeak commented wryly. "It leaves you Brazillians well prepared for the Potions Competition. Much unlike those of us over at Qausuittuq, where we deal with permafrost for half the year."

"Well, I don't imagine any place with a name that means 'the place where the sun doesn't rise' would be particularly rich in ingredients, no," Yumi allowed, her expression growing somehow sharper. "Though it just means you learn to be extra creative with what you have."

"True, but that's the case wherever you go, if you want to be any good at Potions," Ramona shot back. "Sticking to the basic recipes does no good."

"My colleague from the north makes a good point," a smooth baritone interjected, with Shinji taking a step back as another person joined the group – the dark-haired, smooth-faced Champion of Castelobruxo, clad in all black and holding a glass of some truly suspicious looking concoction. "Regardless of one's circumstances, if one lacks motivation, one will never get anywhere." The young man nodded once to the current World Champion. "Suzuki."

"Müller," she replied evenly. "Did you bring the fiesta with you?"

"Oh, ha ha, very funny, _senpai_ ," the German Brazilian said sardonically. "As if I haven't heard _that_ one a thousand times."

And as the author of _Have Yourself a Fiesta In a Bottle! 2,_ he truly had.

"If you've endured it a thousand times, then why not a thousand and one?" Yumi Suzuki questioned, not entirely jokingly. "You know the press will bring it up again."

"I-I shouldn't even have to endure it once!" the other answered, his face screwing up in anger, then visibly relaxing, as if the young man was forcing himself to calm down. "No, sorry, senpai. You're right. I can't let my _publisher's_ questionable decisions get the better of me." He smiled, a wan expression as he bowed his head. "After all, it would not be dignified for a Champion to lose his temper. Or a gentleman, for that matter."

"Well, fortunately, you only have to worry about one of those," Yumi quipped, tossing her hair. "After all, you're hardly a gentleman, are you?"

Libatius took a deep breath.

"Good. If you'd actually snapped, you'd make us Brazilians look like ill-tempered Russians," the World Champion quipped, glancing over towards another corner of the room, where the Mischa Stukov of Koldovstoretz was conversing with Olu Akindele of Uagadou. "And really, only a Russian should act anything that boorish." She looked back at her younger colleague, and the drink he held. "Even if they're about the only ones who hold their liquor anywhere near as well as we do."

Libatius Müller laughed, this time more easily.

"As you say, Yumi," he conceded, raising his glass. "Here's to old rivals, new friends, and victory for the most deserving."

"Hear hear," the group chorused, as their glasses went up.

* * *

Later that night, after the party had begun to wind down and some of the other Champions had retired, Matou Shinji made what excuses he needed to slip away himself, and went to find Luna, who apparently had been speaking with some of the other guests and generally taking care of Gabrielle Delacour while he'd been busy chatting up his competitors.

"How was it? Meeting the others?" she asked him, with Shinji being uncharacteristically quiet, given that he usually always had something to say.

"I'm not sure," he answered after some time. It had been a rather long day, what with travel, the performance, and the reception, and his mind wasn't quite as sharp as it had been earlier, given how… _intense_ some of the other Champions had been.

He wasn't used to not being the most insightful person in the room, and in his conversations with the Champions from the Americas, he'd felt quite overmatched.

' _I didn't expect them to know of fusion, or for the previous World Champion to be Japanese – or at least, of Japanese descent, given that she's a Brazilian citizen living in America,'_ he mused. _'Still, I met a lot of interesting people tonight.'_

The two of them brought Gabrielle Delacour back to the two Rachelles, who exchanged a few pleasantries with them and wished them well, before taking their turn to slip away from the party, stepping out onto an alien landscape illuminated by a blue, blue glass moon.

They walked for a while, heading nowhere in particular, just enjoying the solitude and the cool night air, after the presence of so many people.

"I'm a little tired," the boy said quietly, as they meandered about the village, hand in hand. "But I don't quite feel like turning in for the night yet."

"What a coincidence," Luna murmured, leaning against his shoulder. "Neither do I."

"To the wall then, perhaps?" Shinji suggested. "I remember the view being quite nice from there."

"Mm."

Their feet carried them across the settlement, through a park, and finally to the ebon walls facing the greater bulk of the island, where at last, they came to a halt, with Luna stepping a little ahead of him, her silver eyes gazing out into the hazy distance.

Together, they looked out at the untamed wilds, the place where soon enough, one of them would be risking his life. In the moonlight, the sharp edges, and loud sounds vanished, replaced with soft shadows and pale silver glow, as if the moon was trying to smooth away the cracks in reality, to dye all the creatures on earth and all the plants besides a pure white.

Compared to the moon that night, any other type of light would seem ever so weak. No matter how bright the stars twinkled, no matter how much light the spirit streets of the town emitted, no matter fiercely candles burned in the windows of various buildings, nothing could match the all-enveloping moonlight.

Without noticing, Shinji reached out for the moon, but drew back his hand, knowing he would never reach it.

Was he wrong in coming to the island? Had he made a mistake in becoming a Champion?

' _No. Because Sokaris wished it of me.'_

And because Luna was by his side and in his arms, his lover and accomplice through good times and bad, through thick and through thin.

He felt, more than saw, her sigh as she leaned back against him, the warmth of her reassuring on this cool, quiet night. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head, their breaths and heartbeats falling in a steady, even rhythm as they stood together.

The moon that night was very soft and warm.


	73. Ripples

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 72.** _Ripples_

For most of the Champions of the Eleven Schools, especially those who had perhaps over-indulged during the afterparty for the Opening Ceremonies, morning came all too soon to the Isle of Thule, and with it, the start of the preliminaries for the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship.

When the first Championships had been held long ago in 1407, these preliminaries hadn't existed, as they had served little purpose. Instead, the Champions – only four in those days – had been thrown immediately into the wilds of the island, where their goal, over a two-week period, was to make their way to the grand stage where they would have the opportunity to showcase their brewing skills. All the while, of course, gathering the reagents and ingredients they needed to craft their potions, and trying not to succumb to the dangers of the flora, fauna and…various other threats upon the ancient isle.

There are few records remaining from those days, with Potions were invented, what the Champions were like, and the features of the island quite unknown, as no entity had established a permanent research outpost. None of the schools would allow researchers affiliated with one of their competitors to gain that sort of advantage, and the idea of a joint mission was pretty much unthinkable, in the absence of some international authority or organization to work out the kinks.

What is known comes from what little was written by the observers who were invited to judge the creations of these young potioneers, observers who complained about not being able to see more of the competition, as rather than judge a potion in isolation, they wanted to see the thought process of the Champions, and how their decisions were informed by the misadventures and tribulations they encountered on this untamed land.

This frustration lingered through the years, and with the rise of the International Confederation of Warlocks, which established a framework allowing for less _ad hoc_ cooperation, an outpost was finally established on the Isle of Thule by the Centre for Alchemical Studies, whose expertise and neutrality was respected by the various schools and nations involved in the Championship.

That outpost, established on the coast and protected with powerful magics, would eventually grow into the village whose facilities competitors and guests enjoyed in the modern era. And with the creation of this bit of infrastructure, the International Potions Committee, which had been tasked, among other things with, overseeing the Championship and other potions competitions, saw an opportunity to build the reputation of their flagship event.

Thus, to better showcase the skills of the Champions, they restructured the event.

Instead of throwing Champions into the wilds immediately, they would instead be brought to the village, where, before risking life and limb – and mind, they could showcase their skills through cooking competitions, brewing challenges, and duels with and without magic. In the process, they could better evaluate one another, build alliances, intimidate possible foes, and learn about the hazards of the island by studying the Archives at the CAS outpost (hopefully reducing the mortality rate).

This, of course, did mean that they could begin charging absurd sums for any who sought to spectate, given not only the ability to witness competition on this high level, but access to the Champions themselves, for publicity, recruitment or whatever else they had in mind.

With these changes, the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship became much better known, even growing to reach all of the Eleven Schools certified by the ICW, though not all of them competed each year.

' _This will be the first year there have been all eleven…it usually is about half that number,'_ Ka'aukai Kapule, the Champion of the Pacific Islands School, mused to himself as he waited in front of the CAS' jet black edifice for the person who he was to meet for breakfast. _'If only because there are rarely enough worthy of the title of Champion.'_

There certainly weren't at his intuition, which, alone of the Eleven, was always in motion, as one might expect, given that the name of his school, Nu'utea Kohu, roughly translated to "Ever-Distant Fleet." Where most schools were housed in great fortresses in obscure corners of the world, Nu'utea Kohu instead consisted of a number of great ships, enchanted so from the outside, they seemed to be shrouded in an ethereal fog.

Instead of incoming students being sorted into Houses, or choosing a Banner to serve under, they were assigned to one of seven great ships, on which they would serve for a year, before being reassigned, and so forth, with excellent performance leading to the possibility of promotions to an officer role on their new ship – or eventually, in one's final year, an appointment to a Fleet-grade role, such as captain of one of the ships, or his role as Chief Navigator of the Ever-Distant Fleet.

' _Not that we do not do excursions to dry-land, but our focus is more…on the affairs of the waters,'_ he thought to himself, only to look up as he heard footsteps coming towards him.

"Did I keep you waiting?" a familiar voice asked, pitched perfectly to carry in the morning air without being too loud.

"Not at all, ma'am!" he said, immediately coming to attention and snapping off a crisp salute. "Admiral."

"Relax, Mister Kapule. Neither of us are on duty," the other directed, even she nodded in approval at his prompt response. "Or, for that matter, aboard any of the vessels of our respective fleets."

"Understood, Admiral," the Champion of Nu'utea Kohu replied stiffly, as he forced himself to fight down his instinctive response to seeing a superior officer in dress whites – even if the officer before him was not, perhaps in his direct chain of command.

Well, not at the moment, though as the Commander of the Combined Fleet, which was tasked with ensuring that the protections around the Sunken City remained unbroken and responding to any incursions by Deep Ones, affiliates of the slumbering entity sealed within R'lyeh, and any other threats from the Abyss, the Admiral had the authority to _request_ the cooperation of any naval forces in her theatre, should it be necessary.

In the end, they all did report to her.

"It is pleasing to see that Nu'utea Kohu continues to hold its officers to a high standard," the other noted. "With that said, however, as this is one of the rare occasions when I am not acting as an Admiral, you may address me simply as Lady Yamato."

"As you desire," Ka'aukai Kapule answered with a deep bow. "If I may, ma'am, it is a rare privilege to be dining with you this morning. To what do I owe the honor?"

"Can I not simply wish to dine with an old acquaintance?" the Admiral noted, her lips quirking upwards ever so slightly.

Despite the training, however, the Champion of Nu'utea Kohu found it very difficult to maintain his composure, as Admiral Yamato, Commander of the Combined Fleet – made up of elements from Japan, the Polynesian Islands, and even the Americas – for all her power and her wealth of experience, looked every bit like a beautiful young woman.

' _She hasn't aged a day…'_

Luxurious brown hair bound up in a ponytail, rich purple eyes which could see through any deception. Skin as smooth and unblemished as that of any model. Delicate, almost ethereal features, umarred by the countless battles she had participated in.

So she had appeared when she had first come to the fleet as one of its Captains years ago, as one of Coastal Defense Tsukumogami who had been the nucleus of the Fleet, and so she still appeared today, as the "Old Woman" of the Fleet – and a living legend.

"Forgive me, Lady Yamato, but I find it hard to believe that you would set aside time simply for that," the Polynesian Champion noted, with a respectful nod. "I may have been seconded to the Fleet's animagi division for a single operation, but…" He trailed off. "I find it hard to believe that would be enough for you to do me this honor…even if you are on leave, ma'am."

"Well, there may have been something else," the Fleet Commander said with some small trace of amusement. "As expected from the Chief Navigator of the Ever-Distant Fleet. You don't overlook oddities. Even small ones."

"I do my duty, Lady Yamato. Even if I am…not presently abroad the _Hokule'a_ ," he replied. "Or near any fleet element at all."

"Indeed," the young woman agreed, with a note of finality. "Come. Let us discuss the rest over breakfast. You will have to tell me of the opening ceremonies, as I was not present due to overseeing a most delicate operation."

"As you command, Admiral."

* * *

Unlike the Champion of Nu'utea Kohu, Matou Shinji did not have to deal with the burden of meeting and dining with a living legend (and personal hero) on the morning of the second day. Instead, after a night which he had whiled away under the stars and the moon instead of sleeping, the boy found himself reporting to the small amphitheatre area set aside for the very first of the preliminaries.

One that he didn't know if he could manage to do well in.

'… _a cooking challenge. Why?'_ he asked himself, looking down at the station that had been set up for him, with a basic stove, pots, pans, and knives, along with the large communal pile of ingredients. _'I was hoping for a dueling competition, or a general melee or something…'_

Something where he could show off his combat abilities, which, unlike his brewing or his somewhat lacking skills in the kitchen, were something he was confident about.

' _I know I'm outmatched. That's not even in question.'_

The question was…could he manage to keep from overly embarrassing himself?

And _that_ he didn't know. Granted, he no longer ruined instant ramen whenever he tried to make it, and no longer burned pancakes, waffles or rice when he made them without the aid of a dedicated appliance, but such basic competence in the culinary arts was something every Champion could boast of, right?

Or so he thought the case would be as he watched the others begin to file in and take their places at the various stations.

Elesa Labelle, Champion of Ilvermorny, was the first of them, looking quite glamorous in a gleaming chef's uniform, complete with toque and apron, with her hair bound up in a bun.

Rachelle Lestrange, Champion of Beauxbatons, was the second, wearing a simple black dress and beret ensemble, accompanied by a loose brown neckerchief and apron.

Mischa Stukov, Champion of Koldovstorez, was the third, and was dressed in simple brown and beige robes.

Parambir Agarwal, Champion of Tamirsthana, wore an all-black uniform with a distinctively Indian cut, with a rust colored hat for contrast.

And of course, Sajyou Ayaka, Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ , appearing in a blood red kimono, with a dark blue apron over it.

'… _wait that's it?'_ Shinji wondered, seeing that only half of the others had bothered to show up. _'Right…it is optional, after all.'_

Well, optional for everyone but him, since he alone of the Champions stood out as the youngest and least experienced, and if he wanted to be taken seriously, he had to show that he could at least hold his own.

Even, no, _especially_ when it came to cooking, since most saw it as only a hair away from proper brewing, given that one combined ingredients to create something greater than the sum of its parts.

' _Still, is anyone even watching?'_ he wondered, looking up at the stands. _'I'd understand a big audience if it was dueling, but…'_

His thoughts trailed off, with the boy stiffening as he saw Luna and Gabrielle waving at him, with the young French girl waving a banner with a small raven on it.

"Bon courage, Monsieur le Chevalier!" Fleur's sister called out to him, drawing the eyes of the audience—and several of his fellow Champions—to him as he looked down, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

And not a little shame, since the most disapproving of his onlookers was Horace Slughorn, Potions Master of Hogwarts. The man had already been glaring at him before this, but after Gabrielle's enthusiastic shout?

'… _if glares were killing curses, I'd be a corpse right now.'_

Fortunately, however, they were not. So he tuned out the audience, taking a deep breath and focusing himself. Soon, the judges for this round of preliminaries would enter, announcing the theme of the cooking challenge.

What would they ask him to make, he wondered?

What great task would they set to him?

Shinji swallowed.

' _I could just…leave now, and not embarrass myself. Or I could, if there weren't people cheering me on.'_ He couldn't disappoint Luna like that, to say nothing of innocent young Gabrielle. To betray their expectations by not trying at all – that would almost be criminal.

' _Ok…I can do this,'_ he told himself. _'I can do this.'_

And then two more figures strolled into the stadium, with the people in the stands beginning to rise and applaud, and the other Champions joining in.

As well they should, given that one of them was Yumi Suzuki, the reigning World Champion, looking resplendent in a silver gown, with her companion being none other than the young and handsome representative of the Centre for Alchemical Studies named Tomas Peverell.

She curtsied, and he bowed, as both gestured for the others to take their seats.

"Wizards and witches, good people and gentlebeings, welcome to the first set of preliminaries for the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship," the World Champion declared. "Today may simply be the first opportunity of many to witness our noble Champions facing off against one another, but it is the first, nevertheless, so thank you for joining us."

"Today, we have a very special treat for you fortunate few," Tomas added smoothly. "You who have come so bright and early will not only get to see these potioneers work their craft, but will have the privilege of sampling their cooking, should you be interested!"

A surprised murmur went up from the stands, as they hadn't expected this.

"Of course, that is only if we, the judges, agree that the dish is quite palatable, but seeing the quality of those assembled here, I doubt there will be an issue, yes?" the automaton continued, with Shinji feeling like a dark pit was opening deep inside his stomach.

' _Oh no…'_

"To explain how this will work, our Champions are free to create whatever dish they think will best impress us, though we, as judges will supply both the theme and the secret ingredient that they must incorporate," Yumi announced, continuing on from where Tomas had left off. She turned to the gathered representatives of the various schools. "Champions, do you understand?"

The Champions chorused agreement, as Yumi Suzuki smiled thinly.

"Excellent. Mister Peverell, the theme and secret ingredient then, if you would?"

"Of course," the puppet said agreeably, taking a sealed envelope from a pocket in his dress robes and tearing it open to reveal a single slip of paper inside. "Today's theme is **curry!** And today's special ingredient is **shallots**! Something simple to start things off, eh?"

' _Curry…'_ Shinji thought distantly, as he straightened, his eyes widening as the words registered. _'I can make that._ I can make that _.'_

For someone from Japan, a simple dish like curry was one of the fundamentals that even primary school children often knew how to make.

He wouldn't fail here. He couldn't.

He would succeed!

And so he did.

Like a madman at work, Matou Shinji chopped vegetables, simmered rice, fried curry powder together with flour and oil to make a fragrant roux, the aroma of it swirling around him. With a sigh, he added the spiced mixture to the vegetables as he stewed them – potatoes, carrots, shallots, and bits of tender coconut, since he didn't trust himself to cook meat properly under pressure.

Stirring, stirring, bubbling, bubbling, watching the fire to make sure the rice didn't burn, he pushed himself to the limit, turning his mind to steel as he sought to prove himself once and for all as worthy to stand on the stage with his competitors – to show that despite everything, he was worthy of the title of a champion.

Oil sizzled. Flames roared.

Stew simmered and popped.

Ladle struck pot, scooped out rice, and a curry like any other was served atop it.

A simple dish, perhaps, but one with all his heart and soul put into it.

He would not lose here.

He would and could not, not while someone believed in him, even in the face of such formidable odds.

A second plate prepared, and he was done, breathing hard as he fell out of his trance.

' _It is finished…'_ he thought to himself, stepping back from what he had created, just as time was called.

Swiftly enough, judgement was handed down, with the two judges sampling the various creations the Champions had made and scoring them separately, their faces betraying nothing of what they thought – or so seemed to be the case until Yumi let out a low, sensual moan after tasting Ayaka's dish of vegetable curry over rice, accompanied by a deep-fried pork cutlet whose crisp exterior blended perfectly with the tender, juicy flesh within, and a bowl of miso soup to wash it all down.

Tomas, on the other hand, seemed to be more pleased by Parambir's koli saaru, a kannada-style chicken curry served over fragrant rice, substituting the usual onion within for shallots, which, drawing from the cuisine of Karnataka, was one of the oldest dishes in the world.

Both seemed pleased enough with Lestrange's Seychelles-style Coconut Chicken Curry, though it received no special comment from either of them. Labelle's Thai-inspired green curry with chicken, served with roti, was treated similarly.

As for his own coconut curry…

"…passable," Tomas allowed after he tasted it, with the boy almost sagging in relief as the judges didn't declare his cooking to be unpalatable.

Sadly, the same could not be said of Mischa's fumbled attempt at making a curried coconut borsht, the pierogis which exploded on the stove, or the curry omelet he'd resorted to throwing together at the very last minute, with the Russian's face going ashen as the judges declared his cooking unfit for human consumption.

"In the end, the winner – by a very close margin, is Sajyou Ayaka, Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ , with Parambir Agarwal, Champion of Tamirsthana, just behind. Both of their dishes were an utter delight to the palate, and we had much difficulty deciding which the winner would be. Rachelle Lestrange of Beauxbatons and Elesa Labelle of Ilvermorny performed admirably with their dishes, though not quite to their level. As for Matou Shinji of Hogwarts, his dish, while simple, was filling even so, with the substitution of coconut for chicken being quite an adventurous choice," the World Champion declared, once the tabulation had been finished. "Congratulations on your efforts, and better luck next time, Mister Stukov."

Now, as promised, you in the audience may now come down to partake, if you wish. We may not be masters of transfiguration—"

Tomas snorted.

"—but we can manage to duplicate enough to feed all of you, I'm sure!"

Shinji smiled. He hadn't been last after all.

The judges – even the World Champion – hadn't hated his cooking, had found it acceptable, even if it hadn't been the best (not that he'd expected to be the best, given that Sajyou-san outclassed him on nearly every level, and had, along with Luna, taught him everything he knew about cooking).

"After lunch, please join us for somewhat more active sort of competition, with a select group of Champions facing off in duels. Olu Akindele of Uagadou will face Matou Shinji of Hogwarts. Mischa Stukov of Koldovstorez will face Libatius Müller of Castelobruxo. Ka'aukai Kapule of Nu'utea Kohu wil face Rachelle Sondrol of Durmstrang. And Parabmir Agarwal of Tamirsthana will face Ramona Ahgeak of Qausuittuq."

* * *

At the end of the day, after all was said and done, Matou Shinji was rather tired, as cooking up a storm, followed by a duel – though thankfully not one where either he or his opponent were going at each other with everything they had – was not something that was particularly easy when one was not running on very much sleep.

' _Still, I shouldn't just go to bed – I need to at least eat,'_ he told himself.

It wasn't as if dinner was as grand a commitment as going to the afterparty had been, as eating in the Champion's village was very much of a do-as-you-wish affair.

There was no set schedule for meals, really – save for the few special events now and again, with visitors to the isle welcome to go wherever they wished within the areas protected by the walls. The primary eatery in town – the café near the guest housing – was open around the clock during the time visitors were on the island for the Potions Championship, and offered a small, but delicious, array of dishes free of charge.

(Or rather than free of charge, one might say that meals were included in the price that the various governments had already paid for tickets).

This fare, of course, included samples of the Champions' cooking from the various culinary challenges, which would, of course, change day after day.

Of course, there was the possibility of room service, as one could request that food be delivered to their room, where their only company would be whoever they allowed in – something that Shinji found quite tempting, after his long day, though…

' _Since we Champions have a dining area in our housing block, I may as well drop by, seeing if any of the others are there…'_

It couldn't hurt, getting to know his competitors, and he figured that maybe after dinner, he could go spend time with Luna or something, or perhaps finally show Budge his potion of fading, now that he felt…rather competent.

His cooking had been passable, and he'd managed a draw against Olu, using only his wand – two things that put together made him feel better about his chances than he had in a long time.

' _Well, might as well…'_

With a smile on his face, he proceeded to the housing block and to the Champions' Dining Area within, where the others had already gathered.

None of them seemed to notice him immediately, and he scanned the room to see just who was there.

At the table furthest from the door, Rachelle Lestrange and Rachelle Sondrol were sitting together, speaking quietly over simple, but hearty fare about one thing or another in rapid, fluid French that Shinji couldn't follow.

At a low table, surrounded by overstuffed beanbags instead of proper chairs, Elesa Labelle, Ramona Ahgeak, and Sajyou Ayaka held court, with a sampler of hors d'oeuvres, some scones and quiches, steaming cups of fragrant tea before them.

At what appeared to be a bar, Olu Akindele, Ka'aukai Kapule, and Libatius Müller were chatting with some animation as they raised glasses of some evil-looking frothy liquid to one another, with each apparently having something to celebrate, if their smirks and smiles were anything to go by.

'… _well, Müller_ did _soundly thrash the Russian, which no one was expecting…'_

Sitting at a dark table by the buffet counter, with a half-empty bottle of vodka beside him, Mischa Stukov was glowering down at his plate of beef stroganoff, only to look up – seeming even more gloomy – as he noticed Shinji walk in.

And then there was Parambir, who was sketching something in what looked like a journal, or perhaps taking notes, with a bowl of hot soup going untouched in front of him.

' _Diligent, I guess…'_

For a moment, the boy considered going to join Elesa, Ramona, and Ayaka at the low table over tea, but he thought better of it.

' _They're good people but…I don't really want an elegant, serious atmosphere right now.'_

No…he had something to celebrate to, he thought, as he made his way to the table where the three male Champions were toasting one another.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, as the three looked at him.

"You are welcome," Libatius Müller noted, waving him over, with the German Brazilian seeming more cheerful than Shinji remembered seeing him. "Come. There are enough…chicken wings and nachoes for everyone. And beer!"

"Heh, I hear you beat the Russian," Olu said to him, raising an eyebrow – and a glass in salute. "That's good work. Wasn't expecting that out of someone like you!"

"Heh…it wasn't much, really," Shinji chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Just did the best I could."

"That…" Olu laughed, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders, with Shinji stiffened as he realized that the older Champion wasn't entirely sober. "That will get you far! Try your best, and if you don't succeed, try, try again!"

"Olu, really? Don't molest our young colleague, please," Ka'aukai Kapule interjected mildly.

"Eh, sorry, sorry," Olu replied sheepishly, lifting his hands, as Shinji slipped away to sit next to the apparently more reasonable Brazilian. "Just…having a good day, that's all." He sighed, a wide smile making its way across his lips. "A really good day."

"I hope that's it," Libatius commented. "I wouldn't want you pounding on my door for a hangover cure in the morning again." The Brazilian snorted. "Not that this alcohol is particularly strong. Almost like drinking water, really."

"Heh, only you and the Russian could possibly say that," Ka'aukai Kapule pointed out, shaking his head. "Don't see both of you put it all."

"Well I don't have a hollow leg to put it down, if that's what you mean," the Champion of Castelobruxo quipped. "But yes, Olu, please, control yourself."

"I'll be fine," the African Champion replied with a smile that didn't quite suit him, looking over to the table where the two Rachelles were sitting. "Don't much need much in the drink to feel happy today. Don't worry – won't bother you and Lily in the morning again."

Ka'aukai let out a quiet bark of laughter.

"Oh, is _that_ what happened?" the Polynesian snickered, glancing between the now stiff Libatius and the Russian Champion. "Guess that was what motivated that rather brutal beatdown."

"For a descendant of a so-called hero, his hand to hand skills leave something to be desired," the Brazilian said dryly. "As does his self-control, after a taunt or two."

"A risky gambit, all the same," Ka'aukai pointed out. "And even if you beat him in unarmed, he had the better of you in staff to staff. He even disarmed you. If he hadn't fallen for your taunt…"

"The point is that he did," Libatius countered, a thin smile tugging at his lips. "True. I'm not the best with weapons, but it's as I said to him, a real man doesn't need weapons to win a fight. A real man wins with his mind."

"True enough," the Polynesian Champion conceded. "My own performance in the duels wasn't anything to write home about, but then, I wasn't expecting Sondrol to be quite so fierce."

"Heh, you _are_ joking, yes?" Olu interjected. "The Champion of Durmstrang is the only person on the island even the Russian fears in staff combat. They call her Field Marshal at Durmstrang. Field Marshal, not a title to scoff at."

"Well. Yes. That will teach me to look a little deeper next time," Ka'aukai noted. "Field Marshal, huh? Quite the title indeed."

"Indeed. But...what exactly are _you_ celebrating?" Olu inquired, looking at the Champion of the Pacific Islands. "I know why I'm feeling good, and Libatius, and I can guess for Matou here, but what about you?"

"Me?" asked Ka'aukai Kapule, with a gentle laugh. "Nothing much. Just…someone made me an offer for after all this is over. One I never dreamed I'd hear – and certainly not from the person in question."

"A job?" the African Champion asked, his interest suddenly piqued. "Or…?" he trailed off meaningfully.

But the Polynesian Champion just laughed and smiled a knowing smile.

"If you become World Champion, maybe I'll tell you."

"Spoilsport."


	74. Multitudinous Voices

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 73.** _Multitudinous Voices_

' _What.'_

To say that Matou Shinji was surprised by the sight before him as the new challenge the Champions would face together was introduced was something of understatement. He'd known this day would come, had seen it listed on the schedule of events, had thought himself prepared himself for whatever barbs or probes his opponent might employ, but this…

' _Why is Luna…?'_

The boy sighed, a shiver running down his spine as he saw none other than Luna Lovegood occupying the seat designated for the representative for the British Press, her silver eyes glancing over the Champions as she bit her lip and jotted _something_ down on a notepad she carried.

' _This isn't…I thought…wasn't Slughorn supposed to be here?'_

Yes. Officially, the British Press Representative was Horace Slughorn, the Potions Master of Hogwarts, who as Lockhart had informed him, had probably used up quite a few favors in securing the position, after the boy from the east had snubbed him by refusing to give him a ticket to the Potions Championship.

' _Not that I really thought of it as a snub, but…'_

A snub it had been all the same, given that it was _expected_ for a Champion to invite a mentor to the Championship, though of course it wasn't mandatory. Shinji, after all, had given his companion ticket to Luna, since frankly she meant more to him than anyone else in Wizarding Britain, and he'd thought that if anyone would appreciate the wonders of the isle, it would be her.

When he'd received a spare ticket, since Harry – who Britain had originally chosen as his Second – could no longer attend…well, he figured that he'd send that off to Sokaris, on the off-chance that she might attend, as he knew she was curious about what the isle had to offer. And even though she hadn't chosen to do so, likely due to being involved things far beyond his understanding, he still thought he'd made the right choice…

' _More than anyone else, she was the one who set me on this path. Which is why, if you were to ask who I'd consider my greatest mentor or my reason for doing all that I do, it would be_ her.'

Everything he'd done since the end of first year had been motivated by a goal of one day reaching the Director of Atlas', of being acknowledged as an equal, yet no matter how far he'd come, there was still a very long way to go.

' _Just being here tells me that much…'_

Or rather, confirmed his suspicions that this was the case, as it wasn't as if he held a candle to someone like the Champion of _Mahoutokoro,_ or for that matter, the Champion of Beauxbatons if she fought seriously.

' _I can fight. I'm good at that – well, pretty good, for someone my age, given the training I've had and the opportunities I've been granted.'_

It was no secret that Matou Shinji had a passion and a drive that led him to push himself harder than most others in Britain, as well as access to bits and pieces of knowledge that they did not, and had thrown himself into growing stronger, in pursuit of his ultimate goal.

And yet, here there were others, just as talented, if not more so, who'd had _longer_ to grow into the fullness of their power, to explore mysteries he was only beginning to understand. Well, maybe not the Champion of Tamirsthana, as that school, from what he'd heard, mostly used the same techniques as those of Europe, but then, one could never be sure.

After all, Rachelle Lestrange came from Beauxbatons, but her skill in the sword – and in Alchemy – came from somewhere else entirely, passed down from the Founder and first Director of the Centre for Alchemical Studies, a disciple of Zepia Eltnam Oberon – who today was better known as the phenomenon called TATARI.

He wasn't quite sure what Rachelle Sondrol's talents were, for all that he'd been around her at Durmstrang, but given that she held the rank of Field Marshal, a position whose authority, in times of crisis, superseded even those of the Commanders, he suspected she wasn't one to be underestimated either.

' _Not least because no one saw her arrive on the isle…'_

Nor had anyone seen her going between buildings, when she wasn't moving in a group with others, and it shouldn't be that easy to lose track of a statuesque redhead, especially one who exuded both confidence and grace as she did.

' _I wish I'd taken the chance to spend more time with her,'_ he thought to himself, shaking his head. _'If only so I knew what she was capable of. Because right now, she's a mystery…'_

Then again, many of the others were, with the boy still trying to process exactly how their demonstrations at the Opening Ceremonies translated to what they could do on the battlefield.

' _A battlefield, huh?'_ the boy asked himself. _'Speaking of which, I did want to know why Tomas was here, though in all the excitement of yesterday, I think I forgot to check in with him at the CAS Archives. I guess I'll just drop by later today, since there_ should _be time after this.'_

That there _should_ be, he knew, since he'd checked, but having done press conferences and before, he knew that such things could easily go beyond the allotted time.

' _At least I finally showed Budge the potion I devised,'_ he mused. The boy had been incredibly nervous to confront the spirit of the ancient potioneer, given the ultimatum the latter had laid out for him when they'd last spoken, but…the man had seemed not entirely dissatisfied with what he'd managed to produce, especially after he'd brewed a sample in front of him. _'I guess for all of his knowledge, Budge really didn't explore the secrets of Blood Magic…'_

Of course, the spirit _had_ chided him for _wasting_ some of his precious supply of _Felix Felicis_ to brew what he considered a… _lesser_ , albeit situationally useful, potion. After all, the potion one devised in the end had to be brewed using ingredients from the island itself, and a pre-brewed sample of "liquid luck" certainly wouldn't count.

" _I'll find a way to make it using only native ingredients,"_ the boy had declared. _"Or even something better. But to do that, I need your help."_

" _Ah. Finally realized your shortcomings as a potioneer and herbologist, have you?"_ Zygmunt Budge had said, without any trace of mirth. _"In that case, let us renew our partnership. With my towering intellect and your…having a body, we may yet take home a victory for Britain!"_

It hadn't been an ideal resolution, as he'd secretly hoped that Budge had secreted some vials of _Felix Felicis_ – the potioneer's self-described masterwork – or other useful potions in the book, and that, on winning the spirit's respect, he would gain access to some hidden cache only shown to the worthy, but…in retrospect, that would have been entirely too much of a fairy-tale like development.

He looked down at the schedule he'd been handed, at the journalists in the front row of the grand amphitheater, at some of the guests – who seemed eager to hear some incautiously spilled secret or revelation, and at his fellow Champions, feeling somewhat underdressed as he did so, given that he was simply wearing his usual school robes.

'… _I should have at least worn the dress robes Durmstrang issued me,'_ he thought glumly. _'Those at least, are stylish as well as functional.'_

Rachelle Sondrol certainly thought so, at least, given that the redhead was clad in her formal outfit – a black robe trimmed with gold, with the coat of arms of Durmstrang in silver against a golden cauldron emblazoned on the breast, with a figure hugging blood-red dress worn underneath.

Parambir Agarwal similarly wore a more formal version of his school's uniform, black with maroon and silver accents, and looked quite dapper for it.

' _Of course, wearing something from Durmstrang would make it seem like I had nothing of my own that would do, so maybe I should have worn what I did to the Yule Ball or something like it?'_ he wondered, silently cursing his decision to appeal to try and seem both patriotic and humble by wearing only his Hogwarts robes. It was a little ridiculous that _he,_ who owned a fashion label, was the most shabbily dressed of the others on stage. _'And to pile insult on injury, Slughorn isn't even here to appreciate it.'_

Truly, he thought, the Potions Master of Hogwarts was useless as a mentor, and even more useless as a journalist.

If he'd known that Luna would be here, not Slughorn…

But the boy shook his head.

' _What's done is done. Maybe I'll come off as humble, instead of just…out of my depth?'_

None of the others had bothered with humility.

Rachelle Lestrange, after all, was wearing an elegant navy dress of satin chased with silver filigree, together with a navy cape lined in silver fur, and her ever-present rapier – the very outfit in which she'd first appeared at Durmstrang.

Elesa Labelle, Champion of Ilvermorny, was clad in a slinky black dress embossed with flowing golden lines – which almost resembled circuits, over which was draped a golden-copper stole whose ornate black honeycomb-like patterns were constantly in motion, with the ensemble offset by two gold and amber bracelets she wore as accessories. All in all, she looked perfectly poised, as if she'd just stepped off the runway at a fashion show.

'… _well, she_ is _a model, I suppose…'_

Sajyou Ayaka, the beauty of _Mahoutokoro,_ was dressed in a royal blue _furisode_ patterned with white chrysanthemums, the symbolism of which made Shinji narrow his eyes, given that to the Japanese, that flower represented both the moon as well as the Imperial House itself.

Even Libatius Müller, the rather stuffy Champion of Castelobruxo, was dressed up for the occasion in white-tie attire, with formal western waistcoat in white, and an elegant old pocket watch of gleaming silver.

Both Ka'aukai Kapule and Mischa Stukov wore what looked like military uniforms, with Ka'aukai in the dress whites of a young naval officer, while Mischa wore what looked like battle armor, with a protective wyvernhide cloak over it, featuring a cowling worked into the shape of a bear's head

Olu Akindele seemed to be projecting the image of an adventurer who had come to the isle in the middle of his journeys, as he wore a wyvern-hide jacket, over serviceable robes, with fedora, satchel, and bullwhip as accessories.

Ramona Ahgeak had on a somewhat mysterious outfit, looking quite striking in her red trenchcoat and matching fedora, under which he could make out something like a black top, black tights, and surprisingly stylish boots.

' _Seems almost American. Where in the world is Qausuittuq again?'_ he wondered, recalling that it had never really come up. And that he had no idea of what her abilities might be, since all she showed was a surprising aptitude for self-transfiguration. _'Maybe she's an Animagus?'_

But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he'd misjudged what to wear, and compared to his competitors, he looked…

' _Rather homely, really…just not in the way I wanted.'_

He'd sought to look homely in the way the British defined it – simple but cozy and comfortable, with his attire meant to evoke a relaxed air, as if to say that come what might, he wasn't really worried. That he was someone who didn't need to dress up to be confident in himself, that he was but a humble representative of the country who had chosen him.

Yet in the end, he'd ended up looking homely in the way an American might define the word: unattractive, plain, _unappealing_ compared to the others.

' _And Slughorn isn't even here…'_

"Good morning, everyone," a voice broke in, with Shinji blinking as a certain red-haired puppeteer took the stage. "Champions. Representatives of the Associated Press. On behalf of the Centre for Alchemical Studies and the International Potions Committee, thank you for taking the time to be here. I know some of you have reservations about setting aside a day for this, given that in previous years, interviews only happened in a Champion's free time, with the only full press conference happening after the finals. Yet, as this Championship is in the spirit of international cooperation, it was felt that the traditional arrangement did not allow the stories of the Champions to be told."

Aozaki Touko, acting as the lead representative for the Centre, looked over the panel of Champions – and the assembled journalists gravely.

"Today is an opportunity for both of you," she declared. "Champions, today, you may share your story with your fellows _and_ the world. Who are you? What do you want? Why are you here? Where are you going? Representatives of the press, you have the privilege of questioning these individuals, prying out what information you can, and sharing it with the world."

She chuckles.

"What you say today," she said, glancing at the Champions. "What you write," she continues, looking to the members of the press, "will echo on in the world. Perhaps what will soon transpire will steel the resolve of any Champion not yet committed, or inspire those who have never seen the glory of this event. Craft your tales well, that they might touch the mind, heart and soul, that they might become power, and in time, through that power, some may become…glorious."

With that, the puppeteer bowed, and took her place at a podium between the two long tables at which the Champions were seated.

"And with that, let us begin. Miss Lovegood from _The Quibbler_ , you have the first question."

* * *

While Matou Shinji was no stranger to sparring with Luna – and indeed, considered the usual thrashings he received at her hands to be a vital part of training, as it kept him grounded and gave him a goal to surpass, he'd never faced her on a battlefield in which words and wits were what mattered, an area which he was forced to concede was not – and perhaps never would be – his forte.

' _That, and Luna more or less has a hold on my greatest weakness…'_

His heart.

He didn't mind leading _other people_ astray with misleading comments or incomplete information, but that wasn't something he was willing to do with her. With her, he didn't want to have to pretend, to play the games that so many others indulged in.

Fortunately, however, she wasn't his only "opponent" today, given the fact that as the youngest and admittedly most scandal prone of the Potions Champions, there were plenty who were curious about his motivations, his abilities, and his intentions.

One of the more notable was a charming reporter from the _Bunbunmaru Times_ of _Mahoutokoro_ , who went by Shameimaru or something like that, a petite red-eyed girl who was quite curious about the process by which Hogwarts, and Schools other than the usual four – _Mahoutokoro_ , Uagadou, Castelobruxo, and Koldovstoretz, chose their Champions.

This was usually a civilized affair at the City Under Earth, with the senior professors choosing a student to represent their school and nation from a list of qualified candidates nominated by the Maiden or her Attendant, but the same could be said for other countries, where some held competitions – almost mini-wars – over the spot, where the selection process was mired in scandal and rumor, or which in some cases sent Champions so infrequently that the mechanism by which people are chosen was utterly unknown.

As expected, much of Shameimaru's interest was focused on the Champions of Ilvermorny, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts.

Elesa Labelle, after all, was so obviously "just a model" that the reporter found it odd she had been chosen to compete in such a prestigious competition.

Rachelle Lestrange's ascension to the position of Champion had been dogged by rumors of some murderous game of thrones being played at the old school, culminating in the death of the French Minister's son and a sizeable portion of the senior class.

And Matou Shinji – well, he was young and inexperienced compared to most Champions, even if he did bear traces of a blessing from an elder youkai.

Rachelle, who answered first, due to Beauxbatons coming before Hogwarts in the alphabet, simply said that each person had been given a chance to brew a single potion to show to the Potions Master of Beauxbatons, and she had been chosen because what she had created had been judged to be the worthiest.

As to the scandal, Lestrange admitted that there had been a tragic series of accidents at the school, but no one who mattered had been hurt in the course of the friendly competition.

"No one who mattered?" the reporter echoed, raising a slim eyebrow. "Would you include the French Minister's son under that label?"

"Alas, poor Anton," Lestrange replied in a remarkably even tone of voice. "Like Icarus, 'e flew too close to ze sun and fell from ze sky."

"Poetic, but that doesn't really answer my question, Miss Etoile Noire."

"Anton met 'is end by 'is own hand."

"Suicide?" the reporter questioned, her eyes rapt. "That's not what I've heard."

"Vat else can one call it, ven one knowingly rushes to 'is own destruction?"

The French Champion punctuated her statement with a particularly Gallic shrug, making it clear there was really nothing else to say.

"There was an open competition," Rachelle Sondrol admitted under the reporter's questioning. "Though as this was Durmstrang, we prioritize the ability to survive against the dangers of the world above simply a knowledge of potions. In the end, it came down to a match between myself and Andreas Tørnquist, Commander of the Banner of Ravens. I won. It is as simple as that."

"Mister Tørnquist is your guest, is he not?"

"Yes?"

"Some say there was some sort of agreement…? That certain promises or favors were exchanged, since you apparently serve as his Lieutenant in the Banner of Ravens? And since in lieu of a mentor or family member, you've brought _him_."

"If you are implying some sort of sordid relationship, there is no such thing," Sondrol noted mildly. "I simply consider Andreas something of a mentor when it comes to the art of potions, and a friend."

"A friend, you say?"

"Yes, Miss Shameimaru," the redhead responded, chuckling. "Just a friend. But if you have doubts, I'm sure you can ask him yourself, since I hear you had dinner with him last night?"

"T-that will be all, _thank you_ ," the reporter said, somewhat frostily calling an end to that particular line of questioning. Shaking her head, she turned to the next vict…subject to interview. A certain Matou Shinji. "So tell me," she asked solicitously, as she focused her intense gaze on the young boy, as full, red lips curved up into a mischievous smile on an alabaster face framed by raven-colored hair. "How were you chosen as Champion, Matou-kun? Just remember…the more you tell, the less I'll have to fill in."

The boy smiled, for he had very little to hide.

"We had challenges that were…well, kind of like open war in our potions classes," he explained, shaking his head. "It was every person – or sometimes every _team_ – for themselves as we made our way through a blazing forest to retrieve supplies at a cache, fought each other – or monsters like acromantulae to secure base camps, faced our worst nightmares."

"Oooh, how barbaric," the young reporter quipped, as this narration caught her interest. "And you emerged victorious?"

"I and the one they call the Boy-Who-Lived," Shinji admitted, his face impassive as he thought back to the final battle he'd had against his friend. "We faced each other in a final test."

"And?"

"Well, I'm here, am I not?" Shinji questioned.

"That you are, that you are," the reporter acknowledged, bobbing her head up and down. "The savior of Britain isn't quite as skilled as they say, then?"

Shinji thought for a second before answering.

"No," he answered, lips tight as he recalled his friend's betrayal – or rather, how Harry had Aurors intercept him as if he was a criminal. "His reputation doesn't…quite match up with reality."

Satisfied, she turned to Elesa Labelle, only for the other to respond with empty platitudes about how she was honored to represent the American people, and how the MACUSA had chosen her as something of a goodwill ambassador, someone who best embodied its values.

"A…goodwill ambassador?" Miss Shameimaru echoed, having trouble making sense of what the blonde was saying. "Chosen because you embody its values, not for any particular skill in potions?"

"That's right," Elesa confirmed with a warm smile, with the reporter thrown for a loop by this logic.

"You do realize that this is a very dangerous competition, in which people have died?" the reporter pressed.

"Well then, I'll just be a bit careful," the blonde noted, her corners of her lips quirking upwards ever so slightly. "I'm a bit allergic to death, after all."

"…thank you, Miss Labelle."

There were some more general questions about things from their favorite thing about working with potions, people who had inspired them along the way, and any particular things they were noted for aside from being Champions – and outside of potions as a whole.

Who are they as people? What were they most proud of? What (or who) do they love doing? What sorts of adventures did they enjoy?

Things of that sort, with Shinji learning a few things here and there, as others gave their responses – some thought out – some quite pithy, though he was forced to think quickly when another enterprising young reporter stood up.

"Carlos Aihara of _Diário Bruxaria_ , Magical Brazil's leading newspaper," the reporter greeted, a tanned Japanese man with strong features, green eyes, and bleached blond hair. "A question for the entire panel: what would you say is the one event that has most greatly impacted who you are today? Mister Matou, how about you start? You are the youngest Champion, after all."

Shinji sighed, having heard _that_ particular justification a few too many times for comfort in just the past few hours.

The boy was silent for close to a minute before nodding.

"There's only one thing that comes to mind," he said, his expression distant as his mind drifted away into the past. "The incident involving the Philosopher's Stone that occurred in my first year, for which I was awarded one of Britain's highest honors – and in which…." The boy trailed off, shaking his head as he swallowed. It took him a few moments to find his voice again. "…in which Sialim Sokaris, in whose honor and memory I strive to become better with each passing day, passed away."

"I'm sorry for your loss," the man replied, not unsympathetically. "If you don't mind, can you elaborate? I'm sure my readers would like to know."

"As you know, Professor Dumbledore was once the apprentice to Nicholas Flamel," Shinji began, supplying a bit of background so the official story would make sense. "Which is how, in my first year, he was entrusted with the Philosopher's Stone for safekeeping, as a powerful dark wizard had nearly stolen it from the isle where Flamel lived."

"Oh? Is this that Vol-something fellow who made such a ruckus in Britain a few year ago?" Mister Aihara questioned. "I could be wrong, but I heard something about him dying."

"No," Shinji said. "This was someone who served him. And wanted the Stone to bring him back to life."

"…is that even _possible_?"

Shinji shrugged.

"I don't know, but he apparently thought so," he commented. "Hogwarts is said to be the safest place in Britain, and it is practically in the middle of nowhere, but I guess it is the obvious place to look, if you know Flamel moved the Stone. So one night, after the castle's groundskeeper was arrested for trying to kill the Minister, with the Headmaster going to the Minstry to sort things out, the dark wizard made his move."

"What happened?"

"The enemy went for the Stone, which had been hidden behind a series of traps on the third floor," Shinji related, shaking his head. "Sokaris and I…and a few others, were the only ones awake, along with…" The boy shivered and shook and took a deep breath. "…along with the defense professor. Together, we went to confront him."

"And?"

"The stone was…lost," the boy said bitterly. "The dark wizard was stopped. I, and most of the others, were hospitalized. And Sokaris…was gone." He sighed. "Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like if she were still around. If she'd be happy that I'm here, in her honor. She was the most brilliant potioneer I ever knew, and my closest friend that first year. I swore I would one day measure up to what she could do, live up to what she thought I could be. I'm a better person because I met her."

"…what about the Defense Professor?"

"Oh. Him," Shinji noted with a shrug. "He died."

The reporter blinked at the boy's nonchalance over the second death. He'd expected at least some reaction to a professor dying before their student's eyes, but the British Champion's eyes were remarkably dry.

"I, I see," the man remarked, blinking. "How about you, Miss Labelle?" he asked, turning to the Champion of Ilvermorny. "The one event that has most greatly impacted who you are today."

"The day I lost my parents," the blonde answered after a moment, looking down as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "It was years ago, and I don't remember much of it. But I know there was fire. And screaming. And…" she trailed off. "I'm sure you can guess the rest."

"…I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Labelle," the man noted, shaking his head. "You don't have to say any more than that. Moving on then…Mister Stukov, how about you?"

"The day I was chosen to attend Koldovstoretz," the Russian Champion responded immediately.

"Would you like to say more?"

The young man thought for a second, before giving a sharp shake of the head.

"On balance, _nyet_."

On and on it went, until at last, Mihael Sebastian, a slim dark-haired man who represented the MACUSA's _Agarthan Chronicle_ stood up to ask the final question of the group portion of the press conference. He was most curious as to the Champions' dreams and ambitions, and so his question went accordingly.

"Assuming everything goes ideally for you in this competition, what kind of potion would you most like to create?" he inquired, hoping a view into the mindset of the Champions who had gathered on this isle. "Or alternatively, if that is a bit too sensitive - what kind of legacy would you like to leave behind as a practitioner of the magical arts and as a person on this earth?"

Labelle, who went first, said that when she passed, she would very much like to leave behind a more peaceful world, where people continued to have hope for a better tomorrow, with some of the reporters and audience members nodding, while a number of her fellow Champions frowned, as if in disbelief.

"To be known as the one who restored the line of the hero – and the honor of Koldovstoretz," the Russian Champion commented, shooting the American a dirty look.

"I want to be known as someone who builds bridges, instead of tearing them down," Ramona Ahgeak noted, eyes bright. "Someone who helps to build a better tomorrow on the foundation of the past."

And so they answered, one by one, until only two were left, Rachelle Lestrange from Beauxbatons and Matou Shinji of Hogwarts.

"It is my ambition to become ze greatest alchemist in ze world, surpassing even ze memory of Nicholas Flamel," the petite blonde declared, with conviction in her voice. "To reach ze same heights 'e did, and rush past zem."

Hearing this, Shinji could only shake his head, since he knew how others would see his own ambition, especially coming after hers. Nevertheless, it was best to be honest about these things.

"My ambition?" he answered, with a faint smile. "I aim to become someone worthy of standing beside the greatest alchemist in the world. To be acknowledged one day as an equal. To ask for more would be…like Icarus flying too close to the sun."

There was a break after that, with the Champions being herded into several spots for a photoshoot, followed by lunch, and then individual interviews – opportunities for each Champion to tell their story in a more private setting, away from the prying ears of their competitors, and possibly to give more candid remarks for benefit of the press and the people of the countries they represent.

These, thankfully, didn't happen in the amphitheater, but in the small, soundproof study rooms of the CAS Archive, which the representative had graciously opened for their use.

Shinji, seeing Luna there, gave her a wan smile as he plopped down in the couch in the room, next to the petite blonde.

"Are you unhappy to see me?" she asked, noting that he seemed rather exhausted.

"Never that," Shinji said reassuringly. "Just…what happened to Professor Slughorn?" he wondered aloud. "I thought he was supposed to be the British Press Representative."

"Mm, Professor Slughorn is in his room," Luna told him. "He's not feeling well today, so I had to replace him."

"I…see," Shinji noted, sighing in relief. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"I'm not sure," Luna admitted, though she did glance towards the door of the room. "The one who told me about the Professor's illness was Representative Peverell."

At that, Shinji did cradle his head in his hands. He should have known the automaton was involved in this _somehow._

"…what did Tomas do?" he asked, almost cringing.

"I'm not sure he did anything," Luna replied, shaking her head. "He simply said that the Professor began feeling unwell during their meal together."

"Their meal together…" Shinji echoed, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically. Oh, he could just imagine how that had went, with the automaton modelled after the man who would one day become Voldemort sitting down with one of his former instructors.

" _Is this seat taken, Professor?" Tomas would likely have said, smiling in the dangerously charming way that the automaton was capable of._

" _No, it isn't," Slughorn might have replied as he looked up, only to see a figure that no doubt haunted his nightmares sit across from him. "You…you are…"_

" _Tomas…but you can call me Tom," the automaton could very well have supplied, as SLughorn's face blanched. "Tomas Peverell, that is. A representative of the Centre of Alchemical Studies"_

" _Peverell…" Slughorn would have repeated. "As in the three brothers of the story?"_

" _Yes. I am said to be descended from them – and from Salazar Slytherin himself," Tomas no doubt would have answered, smiling all the while, noting every bit of discomfort on the old man's face, every knot of tension, every unwitting tremor. "Is something wrong, Professor? You seem…_ uncomfortable. _"_

" _N-no, I'm fine," Slughorn would have insisted, trying in vain to get his body under control. "So, what brings a representative of the Centre to my table? Have we…have we met?"_

" _Unlikely," Tomas would probably say blandly. "Unless you have encountered me on previous Centre business, I am otherwise in Japan, where I grew up."_

" _Ah, I see…" Slughorn would have said, sighing in relief. "Japan, did you say? You are acquainted with the Champion of Mahoutokoro, then? Or perhaps with Matou Shinji?"_

" _Yes to both," Tomas might have answered. "In fact, I once tutored Mister Matou in Occlumency. I take it you are his mentor? Though it is odd that you are here as a member of the press, is it not? Is it not traditional for a Champion to invite their mentor?"_

"… _it is. But I volunteered to be the press representative instead, so Mister Matou could bring his…companion," Slughorn would have deflected, not wanting to admit that he had been snubbed. "Speaking of which, how are you a Peverell? I thought the line died out in the male line."_

" _Is that so?" Tomas would have inquired. "I confess, I merely knew that my progenitor was descended from them. I cannot verify that, since he left shortly after I was born, but I do know at least, that he was of Slytherin's line."_

" _And how do you know that?" Slughorn might have asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Rather, what makes you so sure?"_

" _Well, that's simple," the automaton would say in satisfaction. "You see, I'm a Parselmouth."_

 _Shinji could well imagine how the rotund Potions Master would have jerked backwards at that candid admission, probably falling out of his chair and spilling his glass on the ground._

" _Oh, Professor, are you quite alright?" Tomas would have asked in_ faux _concern, as he slid smoothly from his seat and crouched by Slughorn's side. The man flinched then the automaton's cold fingers touched him, his breathing almost racing out of control before he steadied himself over several minutes. "Ah, shall we continue? I think we were about to order."_

" _I'm…I'm terribly sorry," the Potions Master would likely have said, looking for an excuse to flee. "But I…I don't think I'm feeling too well."_

" _Oh? Is that so?" Tomas would ask coolly. "That's simply too bad. You would have loved the Crystallized Pineapple, Professor. I hear it's good enough that some would trade a piece of their soul for it."_

 _No doubt Slughorn would have clutched his chest as his heart nearly explodes from the shock, or at least passed out as a terrible realization strikes him._

Shinji shook his head to clear it of the strange scenario he'd concocted.

' _No…I'm sure I'm imagining things. There's no way things happened like that, right? Surely the Professor just genuinely fell ill…'_

"If he really is ill, I probably shouldn't bother him," the boy said, nodding. "I should let him rest."

"Mm…speaking of which, would you like a bit of rest yourself?" Luna questioned, looking at Shinji and putting her notebook aside. "I have enough information to write my story, so if you'd like to take a nap." She patted her lap, indicating that Shinji should rest his head there.

"Well…since you offer, who am I to refuse?" Shinji replied warmly, deciding to do just that.

* * *

After the time set aside for individual interviews – in which he instead enjoyed a very pleasant interlude with Luna – there were a couple of hours remaining before the evening's grand reception. Under normal circumstances, he'd offer to spend time with Luna, but she declined, saying that as she was the current press representative for Britain, she would be rather busy writing up a draft of her articles.

"Well, I can't keep you from that, can I?" Shinji teased.

"Well, you _can_ , but you probably shouldn't," Luna answered dreamily.

"But what if I want to?" the boy pressed.

"Perhaps tonight, after the reception?" she suggested, her expression growing more serious. "I wouldn't mind if it was then."

"Well, in that case, I'll look forward to it. In the meantime, mi'lady, is there anything I can do for you?" he inquired.

"Mm, if you could watch Gabrielle until the reception, I think both I and Miss Lestrange would be happy," Luna suggested with a wan smile. "As would Mister Peverell, who has been kind enough to watch her during these individual interviews. She enjoyed hearing everyone's answers at the group session though."

"Heh…she was there, was she?"

"She was. She thought it charming to hear so much about her _chevalier,_ in person," the petite blonde told him, as Shinji winced.

"Tonight then?"

"Tonight."

With that, the boy kissed his companion's hand and rose to his feet, making his way out into the general reading room of the CAS Archives, where he found that Tomas had been regaling the young part-Veela with stories about the Stone Cutters. To his surprise, the automaton had been using his considerable magical talents to put on a display of light and sound and color (and transfiguration) to show off the battle against the troll, the clash with Acromantulae, the clash with the tanuki and more, with Gabrielle clapping as – at the moment Shinji walked through the door - Lestrange slew the...somewhat exaggerated form of the tanuki, which resembled, in its final form, nothing so much as a dragon wrought of shadow.

' _What.'_

"And speaking of the great chevalier," the automaton quipped, turning to the doorway, where Shinji stood, unable to wrap his head around Tomas apparently being...good with children.

 _'Just what. How can someone be so cruel, yet so kind to children?'_

"Ah, Monsieur le Chevalier," Gabrielle said with a cute blush. "Monsieur Peverell vas telling me of all your adventures! Truly, you are a most gallant chevalier!"

"I...see," Shinji noted, feeling somewhat disoriented by this turn of events. "You've only been telling her good things, I hope, Tomas?"

"Of course, Monsieur," Tomas replied with an exaggerated bow, and something much like a smirk. "There are only good things to tell, after all."

The Potions Champion of Hogwarts fought the urge to cradle his head in his hands, as he just knew nothing good would come from this, but it wouldn't do to be impolite in front of a young lady.

"Then I thank you," he allowed himself to say. "Luna appreciates it - and so do I."

"It was no trouble," Tomas replied, his expression going neutral. "The dreams of children are precious yet fragile, after all. And far be it from me to make such a charming little girl cry."

Gabrielle looked from Tomas to Shinji, with her cheeks tinged with pink.

"You are here to take me away, Monsieur le Ma-Monsieur Matou?" the young French witch inquired.

"I am," Shinji replied with a warm smile. "There are a couple hours to fill until the reception tonight, and I thought Mister Peverell might appreciate a chance to...recharge, as it were."

"I don't think I look quite so run down, but your concern is appreciated, Champion," the automaton noted, the set of his mouth making it clear he'd caught Shinji's particular choice of words. "Miss Delacour, it was a pleasure to host such a lovely young woman. One who will grow even more beautiful in time, no doubt."

"Non non, zat is—"

"And it is nice to see you taking care of someone who is so...well, who looks up to you as a little sister might to a big brother," Tomas continued, turning to Shinji with a smirk. "It is so very...touching."

Shinji was silent for a second. Two seconds. Ten seconds. Long enough for him be sure he wouldn't say anything unwise in front of Gabrielle.

"Thank you for being so generous with your time, Mister Peverell," the boy said graciously. "It is quite nice of you, even though you are one of the Centre's representatives, and no doubt have other things to do."

"True enough," Tomas allowed with a nod. "Miss Dealcour, Champion Matou, I will see you two tonight at the reception. Until then, try not to involve yourself in anything too troublesome. Though, if you're looking for something to do...the beach is lovely, or so I hear."

With those words, the automaton saw the two outside, with the young girl latching onto Shinji's arm.

"So vere shall we go?" she asked him, her bright eyes looking up at him expectantly.

Shinji sighed, shaking his head.

' _Fine. We'll do it Tomas' way.'_

"Why, to the beach," he declared grandly. "No doubt Mister Peverell knows the island better than I, and a beautiful view is something I think you would enjoy, mi'lady."

* * *

So the two went to the beach, where Shinji finally appreciated the fact that he'd only worn his school robes, as he didn't mind getting those dirty from helping the young girl building sand castles, or from seawater splashing on him as he tried to teach Gabrielle how to dance on the surface of the sea.

That last bit wasn't entirely a successful endeavor, as one might expect, given that Veela tended to have an affinity to fire, not water, but it was fun all the same, as the two splashed and played, with Shinji even carrying the girl on his shoulders as he walked on the water – something she found quite remarkable.

Soon enough though, the sun began to set, and it was time to go, with Shinji escorting Gabrielle back to her room, before going back to his for a change of clothing into something a bit more refined yet casual, settling for a set of robes that seemed like as if they'd been woven from spun moonlight.

He only regretted that slightly when he found that the reception that night was _also_ by the sea, involving a lovely bonfire, great food, music, and more.

' _Blast it, now I'm over-dressed…'_ he thought to himself, as he stood around in formal robes, thinking he should have worn the damn _paeru_ he'd acquired in Tahiti.

Still, there was little enough to complain about – the weather was quite pleasant, and the water – as he knew from experience, was perfect for a dip – and perfectly safe around the area of the town. Indeed, when arrived, some of the Champions were swimming, or surfing or both.

A few though, were doing other things.

Elesa Labelle, wearing a very flattering beach dress of white and pale blue, with a butterfly wrought of lightning nestled in her hair, was presently caught up in a conversation with the Polynesian representative, though she glanced up at him as he arrived, favoring him with a warm smile.

The Brazilian representative was helping with the cooking, though he didn't look at all happy doing it – unlike the redhead who was his fiancée.

Rachelle Sondrol, also in a casual beach dress, was speaking with a brunette he thought was the American Champion's guest, as well as Zelkova, apparently.

And Rachelle Lestrange, who looked quite bewitching indeed in a black and red swimsuit that hugged every one of her supple curves _and_ revealed a generous amount of skin, was playing in the water with Gabrielle.

' _Looks like fun…'_ he thought to himself, thinking that perhaps he would join them. Gabrielle wouldn't mind, after all...and he was sure Lestrange didn't think of him as a nuisance, right? The boy shook his head, wondering at the lengths he went to in order to justify his actions to himself. _'I'll go when Luna comes,'_ he told himself. _'Before that, I should look around and see who else is here.'_

As he did so, he saw a few familiar faces other than the Champions. Andreas, the Raven Lord, who was speaking to the small reporter from the _Bunbunmaru Times,_ Yumi Suzuki – the World Champion, who seemed to be getting on well with Tomas, and Kaiduka, the great _kitsune_ of _Mahoutokoro_ (notably lacking a tail today) who was speaking with a curvy brown-haired teen in a very flattering white and red bikini, and a sarong wrapped around her waist.

The boy thought that he should at least pay his respects to the great _kitsune,_ and so walked over to where Kaiduka was speaking with the brunette.

"Champion of Britain," the fox greeted him, turning from his conversation as he approached.

"Lord Kaiduka," Shinji returned, bowing to the powerful _youkai_ who had done so much for him over the years. "And just is your lovely companion? Another of your students?"

"Ah…" the _kitsune_ remarked, with a wry smile. "That's right, you have not met. Champion Matou, allow me to introduce you to Lady Yamato."

"…as in Lady Yamato from the _Kojiki?"_ Shinji asked, shock and confusion writ across his features. "The Shrine Maiden of Ise Shrine who entrusted the Kusanagi to Yamato Takeru, back when it was 'merely' the Ame-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi?! I-it is an honor!"

He scrambled to bow in the presence of such an august personage, only to look up as the other harrumphed.

"Don't be rude. I'm not quite _that_ old, Champion," the other pouted, eyeing him as if he'd reminded her of something unpleasant. "Though I _am_ older than I look."

"…and certainly, not a student, I assume?" Shinji inquired, looking at Kaiduka for confirmation.

"Ah…no," the _kitsune_ confirmed, shaking his head. "You _have_ heard of Cthulhu, I trust?"

"…yes?"

"Well, in that case, allow me to properly introduce Lady Yamato, Commander of the Combined Fleet, charged with preventing him from waking and opposing his minions from the Abyss."

"I see…" the boy noted, narrowing his eyes. "You're not human, are you?"

"Why, how rude to just ask that outright!" the brunette commented, raising an eyebrow. "Even if I am a high priestess of legend or the Maiden of the Tree, I do think my rank is somewhat higher than yours, _Champion."_ Shinji stumbled backwards in the face of a hint of her killing intent, cold as steel and just as deadly, only to straighten as it vanished. "But you are correct, I am not human, as it happens."

"Human appearing though. Not a _kitsune_ or _tanuki_ , I'd imagine? Perhaps an _oni_..." Shinji guessed. Surely she wasn't one of the _kami..._

" _Tsukumogami_ , actually, if not quite created by the usual means," Lady Yamato supplied.

"A _tsukumogami?_ Of what…?"

"Well, if I command a fleet and am named Yamato, what do you think I would be a _tsukumogami_ of _?"_

When she put it like _that_ , there was only one significant _Yamato_ he knew of related to the sea. The Yamato that had been the former Flagship of Japan's Pacific Fleet - _and_ the most heavily armed battleship in the world. But he'd thought…hadn't that ship…?

 _'...what is it Shakespeare wrote? "There are stranger things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy?" Let's just go with that.'_

"As I said, not through the usual means," she repeated, as if seeing his very thoughts, and this time Shinji nodded, as he had a better understanding of what she meant. Before he could ask more though, he noticed her look at a point beyond his shoulder, and turned Luna walk into view, with a brightly colored pareo wrapped around her torso.

"Lady Yamato," the petite blonde greeted with a curtsey.

"No need for that, Miss Lovegood. It has been a few years, has it not?"

"You two…know each other?" Shinji asked in confusion. But how…

"We've met, if only in passing," the statuesque brunette confirmed. "Though now that you mention it, I have number of those here before. Aya, I see, is still working her mischief and underestimating others. Yumi is spirited as always. And Miss Labelle seems keen to poach one of my more promising officer candidates. Hmph, so many familiar faces, all of which have grown up in only a handful of years. Ah, humans...how quickly they change..."

Her words might have been harsh, but voice was soft, her tone wistful.

"You don't age, I take it?" Shinji hazarded.

"Not as you do. It is not always a blessing, but then, all blessings are curses in a way, and all curses blessings in disguise."

"Is that really so?"

"So I've found, anyway."


	75. Pride goeth before

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 74.** _Pride goeth before_

The days passed, with those fortunate few representing their countries on the Isle of Thule choosing and planning what they considered the best use of their (limited) time. Between the moment they arrived on the isle and when they would be sent out into the wilds, risking their lives to collect particularly rare or potent ingredients, there were only two weeks, after all.

Some threw themselves into the optional challenges of the preliminaries with an enthusiasm that bordered on terrifying. Mostly, these were the underdogs and upstarts of the competition, people from schools who had not competed previously or who otherwise feared that they would be dismissed as little more than targets of opportunity, should they encounter better-regarded Champions on the field.

Their aim in demonstrating their skills, be it cooking with odd ingredients and themes, brewing potions with a limited stock of ingredients and in a limited amount of time, or in showcasing their abilities to defeat their opponents with wand or staff or their own two hands, was to show that they were not as vulnerable as one might think.

That it would be troublesome to have to face them in combat, or to match wits and cauldrons with them when brewing.

That it might be worth the while of their fellow Champions to cooperate with them – or at least leave them alone.

That they were talented and hard-working enough that if potential employers (some of which were guests on the island, and others of which tended to read at least one of the publications represented there) did not at least consider hiring them, it would be a great tragedy to everyone involved.

Matou Shinji was one of these, as the boy knew that being the youngest of the Champions, he was the least likely to be taken seriously – but also the most likely to be eliminated by a rival Champion out of misplaced outrage. His potioneering skills were nowhere close to the others, at least not without the help of Budge; his survival skills were middling, though admittedly much improved by his training in Japan and his adventures in Durmstrang; and his combat abilities, while quite impressive in Britain, were mediocre if not pathetic when compared to his competitors, at least if he didn't resort to using fusion, his trump card.

' _And I can't always count on being able to do that. If I do…'_

If he did, the outcome would be like what happened to those who grew over-reliant on _Felix Felicis_ , and then one day either forgot a dose or reached the toxicity limit of that potent brew: they died, often messily.

Fusion was a dangerous and powerful ability, but he knew the Killing Curse, at least, could "kill" the union between practitioner and spirit, rendering him helpless. And if one spell could do that, then might there not be other abilities?

' _The only ability someone can't counter is something completely outside their experience.'_

Something they had never _en_ countered or expected to encounter, and since _Mahoutokoro_ was one of the schools that regularly sent Champions to this event, he couldn't count on his competitors being ignorant of what Fusion could do. The World Champion had recognized the mechanism behind his display at the Opening Ceremonies, after all, and had talked about it front of the Champions of Ilvermorny and Qausuittuq.

' _I was careless. I wanted to show I was capable of standing up to my competition, but I ended up showing my hand.'_

Well, part of it, anyway. For now, he had decided to keep the _Book of Potions_ in reserve, as nothing good would come of one of his competitors (aside from Sajyou, who already knew) learning that he had in his possession an artifact containing the spirit of a legendary potioneer.

' _And if I'm hiding something, who knows who else might be?'_

Just so, the boy had noticed how individuals like Sajyou Ayaka and Libatius Müller, the two considered most likely to win the Championship due to their status as, respectively, the representatives of _Mahoutokoro_ and _Castelobruxo_ , were very selective about what preliminaries they chose to participate in.

The Japanese Champion, for example, only tended to participate in cooking demonstrations, while Libatius mostly showed off his unarmed fighting abilities.

He would have thought that Mischa Stukov and Olu Akindele, Champions of Koldovstoretz and Uagadou, two of the other schools which normally competed, would seek to hide their skills but the two participated in a good many of the challenges, as if they had something to prove, doing just well enough to beat _him_ or the others they were paired with – even if they did suffer a few upsets now and again.

' _I wonder why they're competing if they're obviously holding back…and why they seem to have something against me.'_

Perhaps he'd only imagined it, but the African Champion had seemed somewhat… _colder_ to him in the wake of the press conference, though they boy didn't really know why. He didn't _think_ he'd said anything offensive, unless…

'… _he's not upset because he misunderstood my ambition, is he?'_ Shinji mused, a frown creasing the corners of his lips. The older youth _had_ seemed as if he had an attraction to the French Champion, but surely, Olu's ire wasn't over something as petty as _that…_

At least with the Russian, he knew where he stood, since Stukov didn't really seem to care much for _anybody_ , though he seemed to bear a particular hatred for the Champion of Hogwarts and Elesa Labelle, the American Champion.

' _Maybe he's one of the ones who thinks my being here is an insult to the Championship and everything it stands for?'_

If so, he thought, he'd have to work harder, prove himself worthy of being here – even if he wasn't trying to curry favor with some employer or other.

' _At least it's nice having an audience…'_

It really was encouraging how Luna came to see the events he participated in, even if he hadn't gone out of his way to spend time with her over the last week. She even brought Gabrielle with her and kept the younger girl company – something which always brought him a twinge of guilt and regret, especially with the part-Veela cheering him on at his preliminaries.

Well, those that Lestrange wasn't competing against him in anyway, though even when she did, it was usually as part of large group, as opposed to him being matched against her for a duel.

Thankfully, _that_ had only happened once, with the terms of the challenge stipulating that they were to use only their wands, and the boy had put up as good a fight as he could before he yielded to her superior skill.

' _Still, there are people I know little about…'_

People like Elesa Labelle, for instance, who like Ayaka, only appeared at cooking challenges, and spent the rest of her time talking with guests, walking the wall, and appearing completely relaxed, if a bit over her head.

Given what he had seen of her abilities, he found what she had said at the press conference to be somewhat suspicious, as he didn't think she had been chosen _just_ because she represented the values of the American people, and while she might value world peace…there was more to it than that.

He was almost certain of that, as despite her impression as a carefree, flirty socialite unconcerned with the competition as a whole, Zelkova – who Shinji routinely stationed at the Archives to help him do research on past Champions and the causes of any untimely deaths they might have met with– had seen her at the Archives late at night, studying documents long after almost everyone else was asleep.

The only other person there that late tended to be Sajyou Ayaka, with the two being cordial enough to one another, though there was a certain _tension_ between them that Shinji couldn't quite explain.

It was as if Sajyou-senpai was a bit uncomfortable around the American, and the implications of _that_ were something that Shinji didn't really like at all.

And as for what Labelle was researching…

' _Why would she be interested in the ruins, I wonder?'_ he wondered. _'And not…_ anything _…else?'_

…that also raised more questions than answers.

Since the Champion of Hogwarts had spent nearly every spare moment when he was not doing preliminaries either experimenting with potions ingredients or in the Archives of the Centre for Alchemical Studies, with Zelkova either helping him or taking over for him when he went to sleep, he'd become somewhat familiar with what was there.

There were maps tracing the paths Champions took year after year.

There were writings about the wildlife and fauna by CAS researchers who were posted there between Championships.

There were observations and notes from the judges about the potions that have been made and the ingredients with which they had been made with, including preliminary analyses of whether or not they could be recreated away from the island.

There were after-actions reports and the transcripts of debriefings of surviving Champions after the event, some of the books they used by when challenging the island (a few of which doubled as enchanted artifacts), and of course, the reports of follow-up investigation into what exactly had happened with any Champions who had died.

And, of course, there was a general Catalog of Ingredients, containing a comprehensive listing of all the ingredients that had been discovered on the island, where they had been found in the past, and what potions they could be used to make.

Frankly, Shinji would have liked to read through _everything_ there, since he knew, as any magus did, that knowledge was power. But, given the limited amount of time in which to do his research, and an absolutely massive amount of records going back to the late 1400s, he was forced to prioritize.

So he'd focused on the Catalog, while detailing Zelkova to look through the maps and investigations, thinking that between the two of them, he would be able to at least learn what ingredients were available for him to use and what spots on the island to avoid.

It was an eminently _logical_ combination as well, at least to him, as compared to say, spending one's time looking at sketches of weathered structures, maps of where various ruins had been located, and rudimentary diagrams of the ley line and node distribution of the isle.

'… _I really don't understand her.'_

And that was _after_ taking the time to speak to others who might know of her.

Rebekah Huygens, like Elesa, had a maddening way of saying very little despite how much she talked, with Shinji cutting his conversations with her short after realizing he was revealing more information than he liked, and her almost none at all.

Sajyou-senpai…well, he hadn't actually talked with her, but given that it was rare for him to find her alone, he didn't think it was safe to, since if others got the idea that he was colluding with the Japanese Champion, they might target him to get at her.

Ka'aukai Kapule hadn't offered much, with the Polynesian Champion saying only that no one who had made it to the isle should be underestimated. He'd added that Shinji should not take anyone's behavior or demonstrated abilities at face value, as each person no doubt had their own agenda.

And Lady Yamato, well…the powerful _tsukumogami_ had replied to his request for information by saying that it wasn't appropriate for her to reveal information about her colleagues, though the fact that she saw Labelle as a _colleague_ was a sobering piece of information in and of itself.

Sobering enough that he wasn't really willing to approach her until he knew more, lest he anger someone who was potentially as powerful as Sajyou-senpai, but whose motives and character were entirely unknown.

Libatius Mueller he thought he understood better, given that he had seen the Brazilian drop by a few times, mostly to look at evaluations of various potions created, as well as read over Yumi's journal. The Champion of Castelobruxo was confident about his skills and wanted to know what others had made in the past so he could surpass them.

Olu Akindele was much the same, with his research interests showing that he was not unaware of the dangers of the isle, for all of swagger and tough talk.

And then there was Rachelle Lestrange.

Like him, she spent most of her free time in the Archives, when she wasn't pursuing some other personal project. Indeed, every time he was there, he saw the petite blonde deep in her research, poring over after-action reports, marking up a copy of a map of the island she had made, or asking for recommendations for what would be most useful from one of the Representatives.

' _I mean, she's here now…'_ he thought to himself, finding himself studying her out of the corner of his eye. _'Maybe I should approach her about an alliance? Or at least…some kind of partnership?'_

She certainly wouldn't be a _bad_ person to collaborate with, as he knew from working with her in the past. Lestrange was skilled in many, many ways, could be negotiated with, as he knew her goal – and _she_ knew he was in contact with an Eltnam – a descendant of the bloodline of Alchemists that that had taught her ancestor, long ago.

And she definitely was hard-working, he noted, seeing how her lips moved almost imperceptibly as she looked between a large array of papers scattered and books on the table before her, how her hands and fingers traced a line on a page almost sensually, how her posture and poise radiated a sense of purpose he envied.

The sheer economy of her movements, the level of focus she possessed, as if utterly unware of the outside world, and the way she bit her lip as she concentrated, or moved to brush aside errant strand of hai—

Shinji's eyes jerked back to the catalog of ingredients before him as Lestrange's movements came to a halt, with the girl gathering up the papers in front her into a folder and closing it, before rising to her feet and walking out of view.

Thankfully, she wasn't in _the dress_ she had been wearing when she first arrived on the island, but her attire still revealed the delicate curves of her shoulders, the nape of her neck, the arch of her spine, not to mention her bare arms, toned and lovely, or her exquisitely shaped fingers, which he could just imagine...

"...Matou, is zere a reason you 'ave been staring at me instead of focusing on your research?" a voice murmured at the level of his ear, with Shinji feeling a shiver of mingled terror and delight travel down his spine as he recognized it as _her_ voice.

"I...uh," he said as he turned, finding himself paralyzed by the sight of eyes pale as ice and just as cold. "I...couldn't focus?" he hazarded, with the petite blonde raising an slim eyebrow, her features almost amused at how tongue-tied he was by her proximity.

"You do seem...somevat prone to distraction," she conceded, with her lips twitching up into a bewitching smile that made his heart race. "I imagine zat perhaps you vere zinking of working together?"

Shinji simply nodded, not trusting his voice as he forced himself to look away.

It was true, after all. He _had_ been thinking of working together with her, even if that hadn't been _all_ he was thinking about. They had partnered for a rather sensitive matter related to Fleur, and he did trust her more than most of the other Champions. It was just...

It was embarrassing on many, many levels. He didn't know if he was worthy of working with her on this field, as he was clearly not her equal. She had trained for this, perhaps had even been born for this. She had quite literally _killed_ for this.

Could his resolve – his _desire_ – even begin to match hers?

"I vould not object to un arrangement, yes," she agreed, her voice mild, almost gentle. "But vat form shall our...arrangement take, Monsieur Matou?"

"I…"

His mouth went dry at her unexpected offer. What could he say? There was so much…so many possibilities.

Even now, his mind raced, as feverish visions filled him.

Why, together, they could…they could…

"F-for now, why don't we work together. On research," Shinji suggested, his voice rough as he looked upon the young woman before him.

"Acceptable. Anyzing else, Matou?" she murmured, her voice enchanting to his ears.

"Um…joint…we can help each other? With uh...learning more about the other Champions?" he offered lamely, thinking that this would fail, that she would see through him, when—

"Very vell."

—against every expectation, she _agreed_.

The rough outlines of their collaboration sorted out, the two quickly got down to working out the details, noting that since each of them were prioritizing different areas of the Archives, it would best if they continued to focus on those, while giving the other a short summary of what they learned.

While Shinji privately did think it would be better to look over the same texts together, as one might see something another missed, he also knew that sitting close to her for so many hours on end, listening to her voice, smelling the scent of her, would drive him mad.

And madness might be…how did one put it…counterproductive to his chances of accomplishing anything worthwhile?

As for intelligence sharing…

"I vill agree, if we abide by equivalent exchange, ze fundamental rule of alchemy."

"Meaning, you will give me information on a Champion, but only if I give you information in return, yes?"

"Oui."

Shinji sighed, shaking his head.

"Well then…who did you want to know about?" he inquired, thinking that perhaps she might want what little he knew about Elesa Labelle, or perhaps one of the male Champions. But perhaps he overthought things, given that anyone else would have found it obvious who the subject of her interest might be.

"Ze one called Sajyou Ayaka," she replied.

In that moment, Shinji felt as if ice had poured down his spine. She wanted…Lestrange wanted information on…on Sajyou-senpai? It…it made sense, he supposed, since the Japanese Champion was the favorite to win, but in some ways, telling her everything he knew would feel like a betrayal of his benefactor.

"Um…"

"Is zere a problem?" she inquired, her eyes peering at him with what seemed like worry. "I simply zought you vould know most bout 'er, as you 'ave abilities like Champion of the East, non?"

"Well…yes, but…"

"Would you prefer anozer choice?" the blonde offered, her voice almost tender, if slightly disappointed. "I don't mind if…"

No…no, its fine," Shinji answered hastily, waving off her concerns. He didn't want to see her look so troubled by someone like him. "It's just…I'm not sure just _what_ she is capable of."

"Zen simply tell me vat you know," she said, sitting down beside him and crossing her long, shapely legs, as the boy unwittingly looked down.

"Uh. Yes. Alright," the boy replied. He quickly sketched out the basics, mentioning what little he had seen of her combat abilities (since, he thought with chagrin, she didn't _need_ to use them to face him, even in the fullness of his power), as well as her healing and elemental decomposition abilities.

"I don't know if she would be able to heal from damage inflicted by your sword," he noted, glancing at her ever-present rapier. "But given some of the abilities Champions of _Mahoutokoro_ possess, I'm not sure you'd be able to get close."

"Zat is valuable, yes," she murmured, with the boy feeling warmth blossom inside him at her words of praise. "Anyzing else?

"She's…very good at brewing," Shinji admitted. "And not just by my standards. By anyone's. I've seen what she can do, and she's probably as good with eastern alchemy as you are with western."

"Hm. A warrior and a brewer…"

The boy winced at the comment.

"She doesn't _like_ to fight," he hastened to reply, not wanting Lestrange to think that Sajyou-senpai was some kind of monster. "She's…very good at it, but she would rather not if she can help it."

"Ah, so if I do not attack 'er, she vill not attack me?"

"No. I don't think so, anyway," Shinji answered, shaking his head. "She'll fight to protect herself, and do it very well, but…she's not the sort to hunt people down." He looked down, and then immediately back up, on being confronted with a pale, shapely leg. "I…"

"Zat makes zings simpler," Lestrange admitted, looking rather thoughtful at what he had to say. "Do not vorry. I 'ave no intention of seeking a fight vith ze Champion of _Mahoutokoro._ I vould rather test my brewing skills against 'ers. After all, if I cannot best 'er as an Alchemist, I cannot truly claim to be ze best, can I?"

"No, not at all," Shinji said, almost sagging in relief.

As he'd broken down Ayaka's skills for Lestrange, he'd been very worried. Worried for both Lestrange as well as the Champion of _Mahoutokoro._ If they fought…

The thought of either of them being hurt – maybe even killed, if things went that far – pained him on some fundamental level.

"Do not vorry. I am not in ze 'abit of killing without need," she reassured him, reaching out to cover one of his hands with one of her own, with Shinji feeling like her touch had set his entire body alight. "I am grateful you trust me with zis information, Matou."

"I'm…happy you find it useful," he admitted, knowing his ears and cheeks were burning. Oh, he must look like a fool… "As...as for who I would like to know about…"

"Oui?" she whispered, looking at him in an almost sleepy, half-lidded manner that made his blood boil.

There were a few people he wanted to know more about, to be sure, but he didn't think she'd know much about Akindele or Stukov, or Labelle for that matter, even if the American Champion's name sounded French.

' _It's not like everyone in France knows each other,'_ he told himself. _'Don't be stupid.'_

"…would be it alright if I…held off for now?" the boy asked timidly. "I want to be sure who I want to learn about before asking."

"Mm, you vish to vait?"

"…yes. If that's possible."

"You don't vish to learn more about me?" she asked coyly, favoring the boy with a smirk.

"I…" The boy kept his mouth firmly shut, for fear that any answer he could give would betray him.

"Well…zat is more than acceptable," Lestrange said eventually, after Matou Shinji somehow remained silent. "Tell me ven you 'ave someone you vish to know about."

"Of course…" he answered hoarsely, glancing down at where her hand overlaid his. She was so…so warm… "P-maybe we should get back to research?" he inquired, his voice almost a squeak.

"Very well, Monsieur le Matou," the French Champion murmured, as she favored him with a bewitching smile, before uncrossing her legs and rising to her feet. "Back to vork, zen."

It only struck him sometime later that perhaps he could have asked about Rachelle Sondrol, the Champion of Durmstrang, who he knew Lestrange was close to, and about who he knew next to nothing.

' _I've never seen her moving around the island,'_ he realized, wondering just why that was. _'And neither has Zelkova…'_

Save for during a few preliminaries, and at social events, he'd never really seen her out and about. Which was strange, as he would have imagined that she would be going to network with others, or perhaps reading in the Archives. But there had been no trace of her coming and going from any of those places. And no sign of her in the Archives themselves.

'… _you know, when I think about what_ that _implies, I'm…a little scared.'_

* * *

The days went by, with Matou Shinji doubling down on his efforts to prepare himself for what was to come, throwing every scrap of spare time he had into his research and his experimentation with potions. He did feel a little bad that in doing so, he more or less left Luna alone, with only Gabrielle or Kaiduka to keep her company, but this was something he needed to do, if he wanted to survive.

It wasn't as if he was _cheating_ on her or anything, even if being around Lestrange did threaten to make him forget at times, as the French Champion had a way of claiming his attention from almost anything else.

' _It's not the power of a Veela. I can resist that. So why…why against her, can't I…?'_

He didn't dare to finish asking that question, almost afraid of what the answer would be. Yes, he was attracted to her, both physically and mentally, since she looked like an older, more developed version of Luna, while speaking and acting much as Sokaris might, if a bit more forward. But he…it wasn't as if he…

' _I am not going there. I won't and that's final.'_

He'd resisted temptation of Tohsaka offering him her body and her…her everything, hadn't he? This too would pass.

Surely.

Still, he didn't want to put himself in an overly compromising position, or to end up doing something he would regret, so when he received a message from Tomas inviting him to a night of drinks and discussion, with the guests to include Elesa Labelle and Rachelle Lestrange, he politely declined. Having seen what alcohol had done to Tohsaka's self-control, he didn't trust himself not to…make a fool of himself.

Doing that around just Tomas and Touko would have been embarrassing enough.

Doing that around Lestrange? Or Labelle?

' _I'd be lucky if they didn't end up hating me…'_

So, instead, he accepted an invitation to a "manly picnic" that Olu Akindele had organized, reasoning that nothing too dangerous could happen at a picnic, especially if the only attendees were males. When Shinji asked why Olu was hosting such an event – on the roof of the dormitory, for that matter – the Champion of Uagadou had laughed, saying that it was an utter tragedy that though all of them had been on the island together for over a week, most of the men still didn't really know each other.

This, Olu had commented, was much unlike what was happening with the women, who seemed to be speaking quite a bit with one another. No doubt, he thinks, alliances were being formed, and plots hatched, even if, on the surface, certain individuals – like Sajyou Ayaka – seemed to stiff and uptight for such things.

After all, the African Champion had said, had Sajyou not rejected him twice, not even deigning to acknowledge his presence, unlike Lestrange, whose flirtations and hints had been an utter delight…at least until one morning he'd somehow woken up next to Sophie Moreau, the reporter from _La Vérité –_ with Lestrange seeing the other Frenchwoman leave his room.

Shinji, thinking back, thought that was probably the day he had beaten Olu in a duel – and in cooking, and other such, as the man had seemed devastated and lost, as if everything in the world had gone wrong.

' _Huh…that…explains things, I guess…'_

He'd thought it odd how she acted as she did when he knew very well that she didn't particularly care for men, but if it was all an act…

' _Yes. That makes sense…as much as I wish it didn't.'_

"Women, eh?" Olu had commented, shaking his head, with Shinji only smiling politely. "Anyway, come join us. The more the merrier, right?"

The Champion of Hogwarts had agreed, thinking that if all the other male Champions were going to attend, that this would be a good opportunity to learn more about Stukov in a casual, relatively safe setting. After all, there would be no funny business if they were all together as part of a group, right?

' _Which leaves the matter of what to bring…'_

He imagined that food would be taken care of, since takeout from the dining hall was something that was already an option, so instead he decided to bring of bottle of Amazake as his contribution, since surely, any picnic could use drinks, right?

...he hadn't quite expected everyone else to have also brought drinks, with their contributions coming in various suspicious-looking bottles that he was quite sure were alcoholic.

 _'What have I gotten myself into?'_ he asked himself, noting that the Champion of Nu'utea Kohu had not deigned to attend tonight's festivities. Was this a bad sign, or… _'No. I think Ka'aukai is just with Ramona, who he was chatting with at dinner. I'm worrying over nothing. I mean, really, how bad could this possibly be?_

He forced himself to think of what he could learn and immediately felt a bit better. After all, aside from Mischa, he could stand to learn a good bit about Parambir, the taciturn Champion of Tamirsthana, and frankly, getting to know those who he knew very little about sounded like an excellent idea to Matou Shinji.

Stukov, for instance, came from Russia, a place of grander, wilder magics, while Parambir came from a school which in theory should be similar to Hogwarts, as India was once part of the British Empire, but had its own quirks. Olu he knew a little bit about, and Libatius…enough to know the man was a major threat, but of the others, he next to nothing.

Neither were particularly outgoing, after all, as Shinji has mostly noticed them mostly keeping to themselves at dinner, though he _had_ noticed them both occasionally speaking with the female champions – particularly Sondrol, and that both seems to get along well with Libatius, due to the Brazilian also being a rather quiet – if intense – individual.

As he walked out onto the roof, he found the others already present, seated around a blanket on which rested a platter of fried chicken wings and other crudites, with bottle after bottle surrounding them. Olu gestured for the boy to take a seat, and not wanting to be rude, Shinji did so, positioning himself between Mischa and Parambir so he could better talk to both of them.

' _Though…it looks like this is going to be a drinking party?'_

So, it seemed, given that the others all held various cups or mugs in their hands.

Parambir, for instance, had a large, frothing mug of something like beer cupped between his hands, while Mischa was clutching a smoky glass bottle and seemed much more relaxed than usual.

The Russian glanced at him as he sat and grunted a wordless greeting.

Parambir nodded and raised his mug in salute.

Libatius did nothing.

"So, what did you bring?" the Indian Champion inquired, glancing at the bundle in Shinji's hands. "Is that the famed...how do you say? Sak-i? Sak-ay? of Japan?"

"Sake?" Shinji asked, as the other nodded. "Well, I do have a good bit left over, from one of my...one of my adventures earlier in the year," he recalled with a wry expression, withdrawing a bottle of _daiginjo-shu_ from the Mokeskin pouch at his waist. He'd originally obtained several casks of the stuff – and a few bottles – as bait to lure the tanuki he was hunting into a trap. Unfortunately, he'd never had the chance to use it, so he supposed he might as well let _someone_ appreciate it. "I also have amazake, a traditional drink..." He gestured at the bundle he'd just set down. "Warm and with a hint of ginger, just right for a cold night like tonight."

"Eh, Vodka does a good enough job at keeping the fire in you, eh, Olu?" Mischa commented, to which African Champion gave a thumbs up as he downed a shot with a fierce growl of relish.

"Ah, nice bit of kick," Olu murmured appreciatively, as he passed his glass round the circle to Shinji. "Matou, if you wouldn't mind?"

Shinji sighed but obliged, opening the chilled bottle and pouring a finger or two of the premium sake for the African Champion, before passing the cup back around. Olu took the cup, sniffed it, and raised it, as if saluting the Japanese boy, before tentatively taking a sip.

"Hmm..." the African youth murmured. He took another sip, nodding slowly. "This..." And then another, and his glass was empty. "Very light. Dry. Like wine, but...different. Not quite as full-bodied."

"Well, sake is rice wine," Shinji commented wryly.

Not that he would know. He'd never tried it.

Noting that Olu seemed to have enjoyed the experience, Mischa glanced over in interest at the bottle in Shinji's hands, and, as if making up his mind, held out his cup, which Shinji filled obligingly.

Once the cup had been filled almost to overflowing, and Shinji had stopped pouring to save the precious alcohol, the Russian brought the cup to his lips to take a speculative taste of the substance.

"Huh," the youth noted, before downing half the glass in a go. "Is not as good as Vodka. Too watery. Too light."

"Really?" Shinji inquired, only to be taken off guard when Mischa picked up an unused cup from the blanket and pressed it into his free hand. "Huh?" he barely had time to ask, before the Russian filled it to the brim from the bottle he held in his hand.

"Vodka. Is good. You try it," the Champion of Koldovstoretz declared. "Product of good Russian distillery."

"Um, actually," Shinji began, looking down at the cup, and the tinted liquid within, whose high alcohol content he could _smell_ , even at a distance. "I don't really..."

"Try it," the Russian Champion insisted, leaning towards the smaller boy. "I try yours, no? Or are you too good for Russian vodka?"

"That's...that's not what I'm saying," Shinji replied, totally out of his element and desperately trying not to unintentionally insult the older youth. He took a deep breath to settle his nerves. "I mean, yes, I'll…I'll try it."

One sip couldn't hurt, right?

The boy raised his cup to Mischa, mimicking what Olu had done, and gingerly – oh, so very gingerly, brought the cup to his lips, only to recoil at the taste of it.

"Having some trouble?" Libatius commented wryly, speaking for the first time that night, as the German Brazilian had noted the boy's reaction.

"No. I—not at all," Shinji replied stoutly, and raising his glass to the Brazilian, downed half the glass in one go, almost pouring it down his throat, as if to prove the other wrong. It burned all the way down, leaving the boy sputtering and coughing uncontrollably.

How he didn't drop the glass, he didn't know – well, actually he did know, as Parambir, unwilling to see good vodka spilled on the ground, had saved the cup from falling as Shinji clutched his throat as if he was choking.

"Ah, first timer! Strong kick, yes?" Mischa inquired, slapping Shinji's back heartily, in time with the boy's coughing.

"Y-yes," Shinji answered, hacking away. "Very...strong," he panted, as the coughing began to subside after nearly a minute.

"Tis easier after first time. You try again. Prove Mischa right, yes?"

"O-kay," Shinji agreed, wondering if he was doing the right thing as he took the cup back from Parambir, who was looking at his questioningly. Raising the glass once more to the other Champions present, he tried to think of something to say, since wasn't there some tradition of a...a...a toast? "To...to your health!" he declared, somewhat unsteadily, feeling his cheeks flush.

"Vashe Zdorovye!" Mischa answered, as the other spoke some variety of the sentiment.

As one, they downed their drinks, with Shinji finding that Mischa was right. It was easier after the first time. A little. In that it didn't burn as _much_ since his throat was kind of numb.

"Come, let us talk," the Russian said jovially, now that everyone had partaken of a ritual first drink. "Good honest talk between men. Not like interviews. So many were...what is word...полны дерьма?"

"What does that mean? Full of shit?" Libatius offered, to which Mischa nodded.

"Da! Like that amerikanka, Labelle. World peace, pah!"

"Well, you know Americans," Parambir commented almost meditatively. "They're all full of hot air. No surprise their Champion would be all talk."

Mischa nodded vigorously.

"That said, in that sense, she does represent the values of America, doesn't she?" the Indian Champion continued. "All talk, no action. Like Hollywood, no...depth."

"I'll drink to that," Olu agreed. "To depth!" he toasted, as everyone raised their glasses, with Shinji hoping they wouldn't notice that he hadn't—

"Ah, how rude. I forgot to refill your cup," Parambir commented, proceeding to do just that, filling it with a slightly different concoction that didn't smell _quite_ as noxious.

Shinji mumbled something like thanks, and, with the others, took a deep swig. The liquid this time was earthier, not quite as fiery, though it still knocked him for a loop.

"It is true about Americans," Olu said dryly, when they'd finished a round. "I rather prefer European girls, myself. More...refined. More down to earth. Less vapid," he added distantly, his expression one of great melancholy and hurt.

"You prefer _one particular_ European girl," Libatius shot back, smirking as he noted Olu's look of surprise. "We've all seen you staring at her like a dog in heat. Just as we all heard about what happened between you?"

"As if you don't find anyone here attractive," the African responded defensively. "I mean...what about the Japanese Champion. Man, she's something else too. I'd certainly wouldn't mind spending some quality time with her. Don't you agree, Libby?"

"... _don't_ call me that," the other said frostily, taking a sip of his drink. "As for your question, I don't think this is an entirely appropriate topic to be discussing. After all, unlike you, I'm engaged. Happily."

"That doesn't mean you don't look. You're a man, you've got eyes," Olu needled. "Besides, you seem to like Japanese girls, given how much you look up to the World—"

"—I _said_ that this wasn't an appropriate topic," the Brazilian repeated, rather tersely this time. "Bring it up again, and I will leave."

"Man, for someone who literally wrote the book on how to party with potions, you're kind of a killjoy, Fiesta-dude," Olu complained, with Libatius' expression looking very...complicated for a second, as if he was contemplating something profound – or something murderous, before the man exhaled.

"Better than being an incompetent lecher."

"...hey, nothing wrong with enjoying the single life," the African Champion noted coolly. "Besides, sometimes you get one over on life. Sometimes, life gets one over on you. I mean, just because _you_ decided to chain yourself down doesn't mean the rest of us can't have fun. Right, Matou?"

"W-why are you dragging me into this?" the Japanese boy sputtered, turning an _interesting_ shade of red as he remembered Lestrange's sweet words and the touch of her hands.

"You've got an...appreciation for beauty, don't you? Even if you know that your chances with the one you admire are like 'Icarus flying too close to the sun,'" the Champion of Uagadou reasoned, his voice inflecting up in the sing-song way of someone quoting something. "It's not like you're exactly subtle about it. See, your cheeks are all red!"

"A-about what?" Shinji asked, though he conceded privately that the African Champion was right – that his face was probably entirely flushed, as it felt like it was on fire. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

"Akindele, stop bothering Matou," the Brazilian Champion cut in, preventing Olu from saying anything worse, as Shinji glanced at him and nodded in thanks. "Besides, if you're after Lestrange, Matou's probably way ahead of you. She trusted him to look after her guest and all, no? And she's been spending all sorts of time with him lately in the Archives."

"Wh...at?"

For once, the African Champion's face was utterly blank.

"You heard me. They seem to get along well," Libatius Muller noted, turning to Shinji. "Well enough to study together, from what I saw. Not that it's a surprise. Your schools _are_ doing the Tri-Wizard Tournament this year, right?"

Shinji nodded hesitantly.

"See? So before coming to the isle, they would already have met. You've read the stories, right? About the Champion of Beauxbatons and the modern-day Lancelot. The boy who betrayed his country for the sake of a woman. How… _romantic._ "

The boy from the East winced.

"Well, that…"

"Do the math, Akindele. You messed up. He's a regular knight in shining armor, if what the French press says about him means anything. So why wouldn't she like him better?"

"K-knight?" Olu sputtered, his expression of twisted shock and incredulity one to marvel at indeed. "What—?"

"Well, that's what they say, anyway," Libatius concluded, sipping his drink. "How true it is...?"

The Brazilian shrugged, an expression that was almost Gallic in how little he cared.

For a moment, silence reigned. And in that moment, Shinji realized that there was an opportunity to take control of the conversation, to glean something about...one of the people here. But who, and how?

"Speaking of knights, and well, Lancelot," the boy said in what he hoped was a casual transition but really just came off as an awkward attempt to change the topic. "I kind of wonder what he was like. Lancelot, I mean."

"Shouldn't you know better than any of us?" Libatius questioned, raising a slim eyebrow. "You _are_ the British Champion, after all."

"That just means I know the story," Shinji countered, shaking his head. "Not that I know how he really was. Or how he'd measure up against other heroes of legend. I don't have him front of me or anything."

"Heh. Hero, huh?" Mischa grunted, glancing at the boy.

"Yeah, just...if the heroes of legend were around today, and could face off in some grand tournament, I wonder who would win," the boy offered, seeming for the world like he'd just invented the mad concept. He smiled, ever so slightly, as his right hand drifted to his upper left arm and rubbed it unconsciously. "Since we can't exactly summon their spirits to fight for us, and find out, why don't we each just pick one and say why he or she should win."

"We each pick one?" Parambir questioned, looking a bit curious at the boy's suggestion. "No restrictions?"

"As long as it's not a full-on god, and they're well known in the stories of our peoples, I think there shouldn't be any problems, right?"

"And by your people...do you mean the British, or the Japanese?" Olu inquired, the question seeming like an innocent one, though there was something dark hidden in it. "Or the _French_ , given Lancelot?

"Well, I am the British Champion, so what do you think?" Shinji temporized.

"I see," Olu noted, nodding slowly. "Fine. I guess it wouldn't hurt to play your game. Agarwal, how about you go first? You haven't said too much. What hero would choose, and why?"

"Karna, the great hero of the _Mahabharata_ ," came the immediate reply.

"Not Arjuna?" Shinji interjected, raising an eyebrow. "Wasn't he the one who triumphed in the end?"

"Arjuna won, but only because Karna was hobbled by three great curses – and because the honorless archer attacked him when he was defenseless in violation of the rules of war. The gods themselves stacked the balance against Karna, and still he would have prevailed, had not Arjuna treacherously killed him. Killed his own brother," Parambir said heatedly. "But then, the gods feared him. For he was a warrior that, even with the curses he bore, surpassed them, who stood against them, fighting for a king who did not believe divinity alone made someone superior."

"I can see why you would choose him," Libatius noted. "You believe in justice, and think that it only fitting to recognize someone who worked hard to become what he was, as opposed to a treacherous snake who is only given victory because of the circumstances of his birth."

"Huh...you can tell?" Parambir asked, blinking. "From just that?"

"Some say so," the Brazilian allowed.

"Then, you go next."

"Sigmund, father of Sigurd," Libatius answered.

"Not Sigurd himself?" Shinji inquired curiously. "Was he not the great hero of Germanic myth who wooed the Valkyrie Brynhildr and slew the Dragon Fafnir?"

"He died of treachery, like many other heroes of old, showing that great feats and martial prowess are not proof against the knife in the back," the Brazilian explained, shaking his head. "I choose Sigmund because he was defeated by no man, only by Odin himself, and through him was born a great lineage of heroes."

"Shouldn't you pick someone from Brazil?" Olu commented. "Since you're the Brazilian Champion, and all."

"My family is from Stuttgart originally, and we Germans have a far longer history with myth," Libatius replied. "What about you?"

"Ozymandias," the African Champion declared. "The greatest of the Pharaohs, a valorous general, and a man of exquisite taste." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I hear he even married the world's most beautiful women and fathered over a hundred children with them."

"...doesn't Solomon outdo him, what with his 300 wives and 700 concubines?" Shinji interjected. "I mean, he even married the great Queen of Sheba, right? The peerless beauty of Africa?"

"...you seem to know a great deal about heroes who were involved with beautiful women in their lives, Matou," Olu said reproachfully, as he nursed his drink. "Is there something you wish to tell us? Perhaps which hero you prefer? King Arthur, perhaps? Or…Lancelot, the great adulterer?"

"Well, while I am partial to both of them," the boy reasoned, as he took a drink. "I much prefer Merlin, the great Magus of Flowers and Prince of Enchanters. I am, after all, part of the order formed in his honor."

"You...part of some Order? Like a Knight?" Parambir echoed doubtfully. "An unlikely story."

"Tis true. I killed a troll my first year. Made it go BOOM from the inside out." The boy laughed, as Mischa silently refilled his drink, and then, toasting the Russian, took a deep swig. "Stopped a dark wizard. Destroyed a col...colo...colony of giant spiders. Yeah, that was..." He laughed again. "I won't say it was fun. But...I miss those days. Sometimes. But yes, Merlin. The greatest magician of history."

"And you, Stukov?" Libatius questioned, turning his attention to the Russian.

"The Hero of Light," the Champion of Koldovstoretz answered simply.

"Who...?" Olu asked, as he'd never heard of whoever this was. "What hero…?"

"Is old story. Probably not one you know, but famous in Old Russia," Mischa replied, shaking his head. "Great wizard who sacrificed himself to defeat a Dark Lord, driving out an evil whose minions blackened the sky."

"...Russian...great evil…you mean..." Shinji's eyes widened in recognition. "You're talking about _Makar Zolgen_ , aren't you?"

"Da! Hero defeated Makar Zolgen in single combat, casting master of wyrms out of Russia! Brought hope to people when Dark Lord fled towards rising sun, never to show his face again," the Russian Champion stated bluntly and bombastically, before peering at Shinji suspiciously. "How you know of Makar Zolgen?"

Shinji laughed.

"I read the epic."

"You...you read Russian?" Mischa asked, seeming incredulous. "You?"

"Well, my grandfather could," Shinji waved off. "I mean, he came from Russia a long time ago," the boy grunted. "But no, I..." He groped for what to say, couldn't find it, and changed tacks. "Gilderoy Lockhart, my mentor, translated it into English." Shinji made a complicated expression. "I always felt the Hero was really that heroic though. I just thought he was a sad man who was tricked."

"Why you say...tricksy?"

"Because the Church is never up to any good, when it comes to those who have powers," the boy said derisively, almost sneering. "It's possible this Makar Zolgen wasn't even evil. That the Templars just sent the Hero after him after filling his head with lies. That the so-called Hero died not to save his country, but for no reason at all."

"You...you _do not_ insult Hero!" the Russian raged, glaring at the Japanese boy, his face covered in blotches of red and white. "He fought, he died for Mother Russia. For family. For the people. You do not insult my ancestor! You do not insult the dead."

"Oh. I...I'm sorry?" Shinji offered, though it wasn't quite enough to calm the youth down. "I didn't mean..."

" _Sorry, sorry, sorry_. Sorry does not make up for insult!" Mischa seethed, taking a drink to steady himself, before squinting at the boy. "Heh...you look like him, you know," he said, a little more calmly.

"Like...the Hero?"

"Nyet. Like Zolgen. You have hair like black weeds. Was bloodline," the Russian glowered, leaning in close, as Shinji reared back from his rank breath. "Your grandfather. Dragon-tamer?"

"No...he controlled worms!" Shinji insisted, wondering if that was the wrong thing to say when the Russian pulled back, his face now an expressionless mask. "You happy now?"

"Da," the Russian answered softly, nodding to himself as if he'd come to some profound realization. "I am happy."

"Then, to happiness! And feats worthy of heroes!" the boy proposed, raising his glass – as the others did in turn, and downing the liquid within. "Oh, and Parambir?"

"What?"

"...good job with the fighting?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your match. With Miss Ahgeak. I didn't expect you to do so well at staff fighting. I thought you were more a sword guy."

"Nothing to be proud of," Parambir commented, shaking his head. "I should have done better. I didn't think she'd be much of a challenge, but I could just barely manage a draw against her."

"Do not insult people of north!" Mischa boomed. "We are hardy folk! Good at fighting."

"Yes, yes, 'm sure you are," Parambir said hastily. "What I'm saying is…I need to do better. For my country's honor. To prove that I..."

"That you what?"

"...nevermind."

* * *

The talking and drinking continued for some time, with Shinji getting more and more drunk as time went on, laughing more loudly, saying more outrageous things that left one or another of his companions shocked or disgusted, moving about and gesticulating wildly.

And then all of the sudden, Matou Shinji found himself falling, after losing his balance somehow. The boy groped for footing, trying to right himself, only to find there was none to be had, as he was in midair, with the rooftop of the dormitory growing more distant with each passing moment.

' _Huh…?'_

What was happening? Why was the roof shrinking? Why was the world spinning, round and round?

There was a haze over his mind, as he couldn't quite process just what was happening. Just that ground was getting closer and closer, and closer.

' _Huh. I can see the bushes…'_

The wind raced by him, his robes all a flutter.

He—

' _Ow—wha—Luna, I…'_

In the moment before his body hit the ground, a beautiful face filled his thoughts.

And then…everything vanished, fading into darkness.

A moment later, darkness burst, with Shinji feeling himself crashing hard onto a black stone floor, looking up at a very familiar ceiling.

' _Huh…?'_ he thought for just a moment, before, obeying his instincts, the boy propped himself up and _puked,_ emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground. The smell of it was rancid, and somewhere in the back of his consciousness, Shinji felt someone mutter about evan…something. Evanescence? Evanescso? Something like that, before he slumped to the side and promptly passed out.

* * *

But the boy opened his eyes only a moment later, looking up to see three familiar faces - and one less familiar face – all looking at him with eyes that bordered on pity.

' _Don't…don't…'_

Oh. And a wand pointed right between his eyes, held in the hands of sociopathic automaton.

' _Huh?'_

"Matou. When I invited you to drop by for drinks tonight, I didn't mean for you to do so literally," Tomas noted coolly, seeming almost amused.

Elesa chuckled politely at the quip, while Aozaki Touko brought her palm to her forehead at Tomas' attempt at humor.

And Lestrange…Lestrange was looking at him with cold, dead eyes.

' _No…don't…'_

Scornful eyes.

' _Please.'_

 _Pitying_ eyes.

He wanted to cry. To curl up into a ball and go to sleep and never wake up again. He wanted to…

' _Complete that thought, and I'm sure such can be arranged,'_ a cool, smooth voice spoke into his mind. Tomas' voice.

The boy's mind went blank from terror and confusion.

What was going on. Why…? Why was he?

"I certainly didn't expect you to burst out of Miss Lestrange's handbag, ruining it in the process," the automaton added. "Do you have a habit of flow-walking into other people's things? Or is it just because you wanted to be close to Miss Lestrange?"

"Wha—"

"You emerged out of an _ofuda_ in Miss Lestrange's handbag," Touko said, taking over from the puppet with a harsh look.

Ofu…what?

His mind wouldn't work properly, but an image of something like a piece of paper came to mind. But why that would…

"Explain yourself. **Now**."

Aozaki Touko's words cut through the haze, through the feeling that everything was spinning, that everything was flying around and topsy turvy.

"Y-yes, M-master," he managed, closing his eyes. It was tempting, _so very_ tempting to just pass out, though he knew from his…his former Master's tone that doing that would be…unwise.

And so he explained himself.

Or at least he tried though, though his words were slurred together, and his thoughts didn't quite together quite right at all.

Still, the gist of it came through, something about drinks, heroic spirits, manly picnics, falling, and then seeing a beautiful face as the ground came closer…

He didn't really remember it all himself, after all.

It was apparently enough for the wand to be withdrawn from between his eyes, with Lestrange – oh wondrous Lestrange, deigning to help him sit up, so that, if he threw up again, he wouldn't be in danger of choking to death.

She even offered him a glass of water, something that he was pathetically grateful for at the moment, as he slumped against her – feeling her stiffen.

"Perhaps, we should…get you back to ze dorm for tonight?" the French Champion murmured, with Shinji shaking his head.

"Don't…don't want to ruin…"

"You vill worry everyone if you push yourself like zis," she told him, almost gently. "Do not be a fool, Matou. Monsieur Peverell," she asked, turning to the automaton. "Can you 'elp 'im?"

"I am no healer," the puppet admitted readily. "But it seems to me like he just needs sleep. He is welcome to one of the couches in the study rooms, if it suits him."

"I…"

"Non – 'e should not be alone in 'is condition," Lestrange argued, glaring at the automaton. "It is not safe."

"Heh. So you do care about the boy," Tomas noted to himself. "Even if not, perhaps, in the way he cares for you."

"I do not vish to 'ave such a foolish death on my conscience, ven 'e 'as never done me 'arm," Lestrange explained. "Besides, Gabrielle vould be devastated."

Elesa Labelle looked on with interest, as the French Champion stood up for the young boy from Britain, something she _hadn't_ quite expected to see, after what he'd done to her handbag.

"Don't—" Shinji slurred out, his head lolling. "I…I can…"

"Monsieur le Matou, do not be more trouble than you are worth," the Champion of Beauxbatons commented, with the boy feeling as if she'd slapped him. Her words made him cringe once more, made him want to shrink into the ground and disappear.

Made him think that maybe…

' _Master, are you alright?'_ a voice asked. A familiar voice. A voice he should know. But a voice whose name escaped him.

' _L-Luna?'_ he asked mentally, calling out the one name that he could grasp.

'… _I will have Miss Lovegood come to your location Master,'_ the voice said again, with Shinji unable to help but think it was almost…disappointed in him.

Elesa Labelle shook her head and helped Lestrange get the boy to his feet, much to the French Champion's surprise.

"I am not heartless, Miss Lestrange," the American commented by way of explanation. "And someone alone in the world like this needs help, doesn't he?"

"Not…alone," the boy managed to whisper, though the others ignored him as they bid farewell to the Centre Representatives and slowly guided him out the door, with the boy pausing every few steps to try and keep from throwing up.

Fortunately, before he could do anything too unwise, Luna Lovegood arrived on the scene, her eyes filled with concern as she looked upon the boy she loved, held between two Champions.

"You 'ave come to take 'im?" Lestrange questioned, looking at her younger doppelganger.

"Yes," Luna answered simply, looking the older girl in the eyes.

"Will you be alright carrying him?" Labelle asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't especially mind helping you if—"

The two Champions let go of Shinji as the boy's body floated up into the air, with Luna looking at the others with a small smile.

"I see. You brought Mister Familiar along to help," the American noted with a small chuckle. "I do wish you would make yourself visible. It is odd, knowing someone is there, when they think you do not, you know?"

The _kodama,_ materializingbefore the eyes of the French and American Champions, nodded.

"I would not, actually," the young silver-haired youkaiansweredwith a boy _._ "Miss Labelle. Miss Lestrange."

" _Kodama,"_ the American replied with a nod. "I had wondered whose eyes I felt on me all those nights. In the future, if you are curious, _ask._ The same goes for your master."

"Understood, Miss Labelle."

With that, the _kodama_ and Luna turned to go, but not before they heard the American asking if the French Champion wanted to go back inside and continue the discussion they had been having before all of...this.

"…non. Ze evening 'as already been ruined."

That was the last thing Matou Shinji heard before he finally lost consciousness.

* * *

It was dark all around him when he opened his eyes. The world was filled with a strange, eldritch mist and—

Eyes.

—thousands of eyes.

Eyes of all shapes and sizes. Eyes of all colors. Eyes in the floor and eyes in the sky. Eyes on eyes on eyes, their paleness shining in the darkness as they looked unblinking upon him.

 _'What...what is this...'_

He turned all around, only to see eyes in every direction. And that beneath him there was no floor, not really – just a miasma in which floated _eyes._

Eyes up and down and left and right. Eyes before and eyes behind.

Eyes above. Eyes below. Eyes inside.

' _Inside…? What?'_

He could understand what he was seeing, why he was seeing it, and the little he could make out of the world around him, through the shroud of a midnight-colored fog that deadened the senses, muffled sound, clung to his skin, elicited feelings of _**violation, violation, violation**_ made his mind want to _**SCREAM**_! It...

It...

It sang to him. It whispered in his mind. It spoke and babbled in a thousand vanished tongues.

And then...

 **"Agukahhhh..."**

Sounds leaked out into a world of silence. But not from the outside. From his throat. From his lips.

He couldn't understand. He couldn't understand.

He couldn't – didn't want to – understand.

He writhed, thrashing, screaming, caught up in the shadows. His mind burned, inhuman cries on the tip of his tongue, as his thoughts – his humanity – faded, slipped from his grasped like the sands of time.

Until the very end, the eyes stared, watching.

And just as everything was about to vanish, before his consciousness was lost to the whispers and

garbled mumblings, the boy finally understood a single word. A word whispered over and over and over.

 _ **"ZOLGEN."**_

* * *

With something like a strangled cry, Matou Shinji awakened, and instantly knew a world of pain. Everything hurt. Everything.

' _What…'_

His thoughts wouldn't come. What had he seen? What had he done?

Why was he…?

' _This. Not my room…'_

Yet not…strange either. The boy shuddered, almost crying at the pain blossoming in his head. It was almost as bad – maybe worse – than he'd felt after Tomas hit him with the Killing Curse. His thoughts were scraped raw, his chest throbbing, and his body felt so…

' _So cold…'_

His head fell back in surrender with the world seeming far too bright and loud around him.

"You're awake," Luna murmured from where she was snuggled against him, the light on her smooth, pale skin dazzling to his eyes. "You were having nightmares."

"Ag..." he tried to answer, but he could not speak, as his throat felt as if swallowed shards of glass. He couldn't really move either – as his whole body felt as if it was carved from a single block of unfeeling stone, save for at the points where his skin touched hers.

In the next moment, a gentle golden glow surrounded him, a warmth that slowly trickled into his body from the outside through a million unseen pores, and when it faded, his body felt slightly better, like it was made of wood – something at least living, for all that he could barely feel his lover's arms wrapped around him.

"...you nearly died last night," the petite blonde whispered, without any sort of emotion in her voice.

"I..." Shinji began, his throat now feeling merely exceptionally parched. He swallowed, or tried, only there was nothing for him to swallow.

"Without healing, you would have."

Her voice, devoid of any trace of blame or judgement, made the boy shiver, made him feel...absolutely terrible for troubling her so.

"I...nearly died?" he croaked. He thought he remembered...falling? Something about being squeezed out of a tight place? Making a mess? Lestrange looking at him with –

—how had she looked at him?

He thought it must have been important, but the details wouldn't come.

"Yes," Luna confirmed, her answer whispered against his skin, as she laid atop him, cheek to chest. She didn't seem inclined to say more, and Shinji couldn't really blame her.

"Luna...I'm..." he began, but his voice failed him, as he couldn't think of what to answer.

"Was it worth it?" she asked simply. Tonelessly.

"...I don't know," the boy said at last. "I can't...really remember."

The morning was an uneasy one, with the boy eventually learning from Luna that his body nearly shut down from alcohol poisoning, on top of whatever other dangers he might have encountered. Something about a fall from the dorms, perhaps, though even that was speculative.

But it was not the fact that he nearly died that struck him as much as what she said at the end: "Even so...I'm glad. That you thought of me."

Her smile when she said those words, was almost...sad. No. Not almost. It was a fragile thing, like glass. Just as transparent. Just as pale.

"You have a cooking challenge this morning, and a brewing one after that," she said, after being silent for a while. "I think I can heal you well enough for you to compete, if you wish. I know...Gabrielle...wanted to see you compete. And that Miss Lestrange will be there..."

The boy swallowed, for some reason thinking that what he said next would be a pivotal moment, even if he wasn't sure of just _why_ he felt that way. Or why there was such pain welling up in his chest at the sight of her expression.

"Actually...I...," Shinji began, with Luna looking up at him with an expression of quiet surprise. "These preliminaries - they're optional, right?"

"Except for the overnight survival challenge tonight, yes," Luna confirmed, her voice almost - almost curious. Almost hopeful. "Though you haven't missed a single one this week."

"...then if they're optional, why don't I spend the day with you?" he murmured, knowing he said the right thing as the petite blonde's smile came to life, and she embraced him tightly, her body relaxing against his. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Yes. It certainly has."


	76. The Horse You Rode in On

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 75.** _The Horse You Rode in On_

For Matou Shinji, it was an odd thing to not have much to do during the day, given that for the last week, he had thrown himself into Championship preliminaries, research, and experimenting with potions, with precious little time left for anything else.

Odd, but not unpleasant – and sorely needed, to boot, after the night he'd had.

A night where he had come very close to dying any number of times, due to foolishly overestimating his capacity for alcohol, much as he imagined Tohsaka had done.

' _I made a fool of myself.'_

It wasn't the first time he'd done so, but this time was different in that he didn't really remember what he'd said, what he'd done. He just had to live with the consequences.

…like knowing that if it wasn't for Luna, he might very well have died.

Thinking that he'd be a complete idiot if he took this second chance at life for granted, he decided to spend the day with her, doing whatever it was she wanted to do, since he didn't really feel up to competing in an optional preliminary when there was a mandatory overnight survival challenge coming up tonight, and he wanted to make up for the mistakes he'd made, if only just a little

They the two spent the day together, doing all manner of things.

They read together from a book called _The Alchemist,_ which contained with its pages the story of a young shepherd boy with odd, recurring dreams, who set out on a journey to find a treasure – and his destiny – amidst the swirling sands of Egypt, and after trial and tribulation, managed to find that _and_ true love, with the aid of a wise alchemist.

(The story, Shinji thought, had a number of parallels to his actual situation, which he wondered if Luna realized.)

They cooked together, with Luna mentioning that his skills in the kitchen had improved – which meant a lot for Shinji, given that she had witnessed his earliest (bungled) attempts to cook anything at all, even somehow failing to prepare instant ramen.

They walked the wall, with Luna making sure to heal him when he felt tired.

And through all this, they talked.

They spoke of things like the future and what it held – or might hold.

Of home – and how for Luna, home wasn't about where she lived. It wasn't not the land that was important, or the language people spoke, but the people themselves. Her friends and family. Where they were, that was where home was, not the land in which she was born, or of which she happened to be a citizen.

Of ambitions – and how for Shinji, his would very likely carry him away from Britain – even if, as Luna pointed out, the Ministry would likely ask him to stay and help them make Britain great again _if_ he did well enough in the Championship.

Of dreams, and how they both had such odd ones, some of which ended up coming true, some of which never had, and some of which they would have no way of confirming for themselves.

And of course, they spoke of the what-ifs of life. What would things have been like if he'd been sorted into a different House at Hogwarts? If he'd been born with magic circuits, as the heir of the Matou family, and Matou Sakura not…

'… _actually, Zouken would probably have adopted her anyway,'_ Shinji realized with a frown. _'There's no way he would have passed up a chance to add her qualities to the bloodline.'_ The old man would have betrothed the two children, meaning that Sakura would have been… _'My fiancée,'_ he thought with disgust.

What a horrible fate _that_ would have been.

There were other what-ifs too – like what if he'd asked Tohsaka for a loan all those years ago when he'd first gotten his letter, turning his back on his family like they'd turned their back on him? Or what if he'd obtained a familiar other than Zelkova?

' _Or what if I somehow had found myself in a relationship with Gr—with Hermione? Or…with Tohsaka?'_ It might have happened once, had his attention not been elsewhere, or if he'd given in to temptation, but where those choices would have led him was something he couldn't quite imagine. ' _Would I even still be potions champion? Would I even recognize that Matou Shinji as me?'_

Who knew, really?

What he knew was that here and now, he had been shaped by the choices he had made, the hardships he had gone through, the people he met, and had become something more than the sum of those parts.

' _When I first got my letter all those years ago, I never imagined there would be a moment when I carried the hopes and dreams of an entire country. How could I? I was nothing then. Consumed by my obsession with become the heir of the Matou family, and by my despair when I realized I could not.'_

Because of the letter, everything changed.

Because he met Sokaris, and found a goal to strive for, he had grown far beyond what he thought was possible.

Because he met Luna…he had learned that someone not of the moonlit world could accept him, could look upon his actions and choices and see him as someone good and noble, not as the fake he often thought himself to be.

So many turning points in what had become a fairly remarkable life.

' _Let's hope it continues. This life of mine. This story. I'm sure there will be surprises yet.'_

"Yes, but hopefully only good ones," Luna murmured, as they stood together on the wall, watching the sun sink beneath the horizon. "It's time."

With the sun setting, the survival challenge would soon begin, with every Champions on the island asked to report to the amphitheater, where the rules for the event would be laid out.

"I should go," Shinji murmured, turning to look at the petite blonde by his side, whose form seemed so frail – yet so determined, despite that. "Thank you…for today. For reminding me of what's important."

"Thank _you,"_ his lover whispered, brushing her lips against his cheek for luck. "Go well, and good luck,"

* * *

The boy was thoughtful as he made his way to his dorm, changing into his wyvernhide battle robes before heading to the amphitheater, with an invisible Zelkova in tow. Unlike him, his familiar had spent the day in the Archives, dutifully continuing the research his Master had assigned him.

' _You are prepared, Master?'_ the _kodama_ queried.

' _Well, if I'm not, it's a bit late for that, isn't it?'_ Shinji thought sardonically. _'We're going…out there. Out beyond the wall and the barrier into who knows what. We've both done our research, but there's no substitute for the real thing.'_

' _Yes,'_ his familiar replied simply.

' _That's it?'_ Shinji wondered. _'Just "yes?"'_

' _There is little to say other than that, Master,'_ the _kodama_ related.

The two walked in silence for a time, with Shinji nodding to an Olu Akindele in his adventurer outfit – though the African Champion looked like death warmed over and didn't notice him – and a Rachelle Lestrange, clad in a non-descript grey dress, who returned the nod, but said nothing.

They arrived at the amphitheater without much trouble, noting that most of the others had already arrived, with each sitting in a chair labelled with their respective school – or so Shinji surmised after seeing the chairs that were unoccupied were labelled "Hogwarts", "Beauxbatons" and "Uagadou."

Not surprisingly, Mischa Stukov and Parambir Agarwal looked…relatively out of sorts.

' _Perhaps they too, misjudged their capacity?'_ Shinji wondered. It would be fitting after how much they' made him drink. Well, how much they must have, since he didn't remember how much he'd drunk or what he'd said, really.

And then the judges arrived, led by Yumi Suzuki, the reigning Potions Champion of the world, with Tomas and the rest not far behind.

"Greeting, Champions. You have undoubtedly heard rumors of what tonight will be like," the Japanese woman began without preamble, her eyes hard as she looked from face to face, seemingly searching for something, and not quite finding it. "Whatever you have heard, put it out of your mind. Tonight will be your first true taste of the dangers the isle has to offer. The first true test of your abilities in a setting that is not as…constrained or free of harm as the rest of the preliminaries."

"Some of you will do well in this exercise," Yumi noted quietly, her gaze seeming to linger on certain Champions just a hair longer than the others. "Some of you…will not, no matter what you might wish, or how hard you try. Either way, let there be no shame – simply do your best, and no one can say you are less than true Champions."

She chuckled, turning to Tomas, who stepped forward.

"Those from the Centre who come here for individual research prepare themselves extensively for what they know is coming over months of efforts. But you have had no such opportunity, no such preparation, so it would be unfair of us to expect the same of you, as you have not had the chance. As such, we do not expect you to go out there as individuals – but as teams," the automaton declared, with the announcement causing a stir among some of the less-informed Champions. "Teams we will put together, based on the skills and strengths you have demonstrated in the preliminaries to date – and those otherwise publicly known."

"That is not say that we do not wish to have your input, however," Yumi continued, nodding to Tomas. "As you are the ones who will be working with – and scored as a team with – your teammates."

"So," the puppet intoned, flicking his wand as two slips of paper and a pen appeared in the laps of each of the Champions. "You may provide us with three names. Yours, the name of the person you would most like to work with, and the name of the person you would least like to work with, in that order. Every team – save one – will be composed of pairs, with teams to be evaluated on teamwork, performance during survival, and the potion you end up brewing by sunrise."

' _Sunrise, huh? That's not a lot of time.'_

"Are there any questions?" Yumi questioned, proceeding to field one or two.

Yes, the guests on the island would have the chance to view the Champions in action, so long as they were outside on the field, due to several transfigured items that functioned almost like cameras, though this could not be guaranteed in case of inclement weather.

No, requests that Champions made for specific pairings would not be guaranteed.

"After all, there would be more than one person asking for a pairing, or a requested pairing might unfairly unbalance the playing field, so while we will take your requests into account, don't be surprised if you end up being paired with someone you hadn't considered. What we take more seriously is who you do _not_ wish to work with, as we do not want to see teams that tear themselves apart before the environment has a chance to do so."

She left them to consider who they wanted to work with, giving them five minutes to jot down what names they would names. Some wrote down three names right away. Some took a moment to look about the stage, to see who the others were, before slowly, deliberately writing a name or two. Some began to write, before pausing, considering whether what they had begun to put on paper was the right answer.

Still at the five minutes, everyone had written _something_ down, with Shinji noting that he would very much like to work with Sajyou Ayaka, as she had taught him so many things and _was_ an undoubtedly skilled Champion (and more importantly, _probably_ wasn't annoyed at him), while he had no wish to work with the Champions of Koldovstoretz or Tamirsthana, which he remembered – vaguely – as having pressed many, many drinks into his hand.

Perhaps it was petty of him to dismiss them for what had probably been an attempt at being friendly, but he'd almost died – _twice! –_ because of that stupid 'manly picnic'. Indeed, his head throbbed in pain as he looked at the Russian, so he wasn't feeling inclined to be particularly charitable, or to give them the benefit of the doubt.

In the end, after the slips of paper had been collected and the Judging Committee given the chance to deliberate briefly over assignments, the teams were announced.

 _Rachelle Lestrange & Rachelle Sondrol_

 _Olu Akinele & Libatius Müller_

 _Ramona Ahgeak, Ka'aukai Kapule & Shinji Matou_

 _Ayaka Sajyou & Elesa Labelle_

 _Parambir Agarwal & Mischa Stukov_

Some were excited. Some were vastly disappointed. Some were indifferent.

And Shinji, well…

' _I wanted to work with Sajyou-san,'_ he grumbled, though he was at relieved that at the least he wouldn't have to work with either Agarwal or Stukov. _'Also, I'm not sure that the judges really know what Elesa is capable of if they're putting her together with Ayaka. Do they…?'_

It crossed his mind that with how the American had been giving everyone the impression that she was merely a model and socialite, that the only way to give her any sort of chance was to pair her with the favorite to win.

'… _she did that on purpose.'_

Well, that much was obvious – the reason _why_ , however, wasn't.

"Champions, gather in your teams and report to the exit gate of the village," Yumi instructed, not letting the group have a chance to discuss too much. "What you have on you now is all you will be taking into the wilds for this exercise, so I hope you came prepared. We expect you to have passed into the forest in oh…half an hour. Good luck."

Shinji, as he walked over to the Polynesian Champion and the Inupiat girl, found himself feeling a bit uncertain, as while he'd met them – briefly, he'd never really talked to either of them in detail, and of course, he hadn't made a spectacular showing so far.

' _Well, neither have they, but still…'_

In some ways, the fact that he was on a team of three disturbed him, since why would the Committee feel it was fine to put the three of them together unless they thought that only with three of them could they match the achievements of a pair of the others.

' _Master, that's probably not—'_

' _I_ _know,'_ Shinji thought irritably. _'I know, but it still rankles. I just…after everything I've been through, being thought of as weak—'_

' _Master, you_ are _the youngest person here, and you_ have not _been_ _demonstrating your full set of abilities_.'

' _True but…'_ the boy sighed. Whatever his familiar said, whatever the logic, it still stung. _'Though I guess that means I should remember that the others might have been hiding their abilities as well, since being underestimated is a perfectly valid strategy.'_

He, at least, was stronger than most would think, at least in combat, given his abilities with Fusion, which he hadn't revealed, even when it seemed he was falling to his doom the night before. So who knew what others were hiding?

Speaking of hiding though…there was the matter of his familiar.

Specifically, the kind of role Zelkova should take, and how visible or independent the _kodama_ should be during the event. There were a number of possible options, each reflecting ways in which he had worked with his familiar in the past, and each with tradeoffs.

Certainly, he could keep Zelkova with him (and unfused), effectively extending his own ability to look for ingredients or sense danger while benefiting from the fact that he would have an extra set of eyes who could see through most disguises and glamours – and an extra being who could attack his enemies, if need be. Though, given that Lestrange and Labelle could both sense his familiar in spirit form, it wasn't as if could rely on the element of surprise…

He could fuse as soon as practical (e.g. out of sight of his competitors), though that meant revealing some of his abilities to his temporary team-mates, and he wasn't sure how comfortable he was with that. Fusion, of course, granted him access to a tier of power he could not otherwise access, boosting his speed, strength, magical power, and resistance to the energy of others, while granting him a firsthand awareness of the patterns of the world.

' _Fusion is my trump card.'_ Yes, but as powerful as it was, it was not invulnerable, as previous encounters had demonstrated, and it meant that he couldn't really send Zelkova off to scout or harass an enemy.

Speaking of which, he supposed he could do just that, an advantage that he didn't think other teams would share – except perhaps Sajyou-senpai's, since he was sure her familiar Yatagarasu was somewhere about, even if he hadn't seen it during his time on the isle. Of course, in this case, in case something happened, he wouldn't have his familiar's powerful defensive abilities to fall back on – or fusion – for that matter, if his familiar had not yet returned.

Further, if he were to ask his _kodama_ to harass and sabotage one of his rivals for the duration of the challenge, causing convenient "accidents" and the like, the familiar wouldn't be available to scout the area, and there was always the risk of losing him in enemy action.

He could assign Zelkova to guard one of his teammates (such as the brewer) at all times, providing an extra layer of protection to whoever was in charge of making their team's potion – as it wouldn't be _him_ , though he might have to explain this to him or her...

 _'Or maybe I'm over thinking this...'_ he thought.

Since he was part of the only group of three, he supposed he could simply leave Zelkova with Luna and go into the challenge without the safety net of fusion or the bonuses to his perception or defense abilities. In _theory_ , it should be safe enough, and not demonstrating talents he wasn't capable of alone would make sure that during the actual competition, no one would know he had such abilities.

' _No. That would be stupid. There's was a time for hiding what I can do, but that time has passed. Without fusion, I can't hope to match some of the others, and I'm not going into a survival challenge without my trump card.'_

With this bit decided, the boy greeted his teammates, and after exchanging some pleasantries, headed towards the exit, since half an hour really wasn't that much time.

* * *

On entering the forest, stepping beyond the bounds of the village into the island proper, Shinji was almost overwhelmed by how heavy felt, as if the world was exerting an extra degree of pressure on him. This place, it was…

' _Alive…'_

His awareness of life all around him, of the currents of the world, of energy and flows was stronger here than almost anywhere else Shinji had ever known, except maybe near the sacred spring of _Shiretoko_. He hadn't thought the history of the island while in the village, but here, outside its walls, he could feel the _age_ of the place, its nature as a relic of the past hidden in the present.

' _My powers…they'll be more potent here.'_ Certainly, that was true, but… _'Then again, so will anything else that uses magic. Even the plants and animals…'_ The boy breathed, inhaling and exhaling several times, since the air felt particularly thick here, almost thick enough to choke him. _'Are you feeling this too, Zelkova?'_

 _'I am, Master. It is pleasant, is it not?'_ the _kodama_ replied in his mind, sounding perfectly comfortable. _'Hearing the whispers of the trees, feeling the quiet patterns of their echoes in the very land itself. It reminds me of…of being part of the Great Tree.'_

Shinji sighed. He forgot, every once in a while, that his familiar had a very inhuman way of looking at the world.

As if by mutual agreement, once the individual teams left the confines of the village, they split up, heading in all different directions, as if they knew that the greatest threats to their success were one another. Or at least, they wanted a chance to strategize and plan without the opposition hearing them, which might or might not be the same thing.

Once they were about a kilometer out from town, with no other teams in earshot, by Shinji – and Zelkova's – reckoning, the Polynesian Champion decided to speak.

"So, it appears we are working together, Matou," Ka'aukai Kapule said as they walked. "Ramona, I know, and have worked with before, but you are something of a mystery to me. Now, I am a scout and forager by inclination, while Ramona prefers a more defensive style, as that better suits her skills. What of you?"

"I can do either," Shinji remarked, noting that neither had mentioned their brewing abilities. Best he did so now so there were no misunderstandings later. "Though I will say I am more of a fighter than a brewer, so if you can help it, don't put me in charge of making the group's potion."

He smiled wryly, though he wasn't joking.

"Making a potion I can handle, so long as we have a fortified camp to work with," Ramona noted, glancing over at the boy with a nod. "In fact, I think locating a suitable place to establish ourselves should be our first priority out here."

"I would prioritize gathering reagents and ingredients, with us setting up camp only when we finish. Setting up camp site does tie us down to a single location, after all, which we will then have to commit to defending," the Champion of _Nu'utea Kohu_ pointed out. "At this early stage, I would rather collect what rare and potent ingredients we can before another team does so. What of you, Champion Matou?"

Shinji couldn't deny that what Ka'aukai sai made sense, but…

"I think that we should prioritize finding a good campsite, though we should of course, gather materials as we look for a good place," Shinji replied after a moment. "Staying on the move might help at first, but I don't want to be caught unaware when I'm tired towards the end of the night. And well, what good sites there are might be taken if we delay."

He remembered the Wiggentrees that everyone claimed as bases for Snape's potions challenges, after all. If there were such things here, on the isle, or things of similar strategic value, no doubt they'd become battlegrounds, favoring whoever had claimed them first.

"...ah, from what I hear, you did have quite a night, didn't you?" the Polynesian commented, to which Shinji shook his head.

"I don't really want to talk about that right now," the boy from the East said rightly.

"As you will. Well, since it seems we'll be looking for somewhere to set up camp, are there specific things you would like to have at a…at a base?" the youth asked, taking the decision good-naturedly.

"A wiggentree," Shinji responded immediately, thinking that something that could protect against attacks – or even detection – from Dark Creatures, could be quite useful. "If they grow here, that is," he amended, given that he didn't remember anything related to the wiggen in his study of the ingredients catalog.

"A wiggentree?" Ramona repeated, her tone curious.

' _Heh. She hasn't heard of it?'_

"It's a kind of tree that protects those near it from Dark Creatures," the boy explained, his lips twisting as he realized he might have to explain what 'Dark Creature' meant. It was so easy to forget that not everyone had the same background, even if they could all speak the same language, or something like it. "It's native to Europe, and I remember that during my training, I was taught that having one of those around was invaluable."

"Such a thing would be useful, eliminating some of the usual protections we would need to emplace, though I do not recall hearing of them on the island," Ka'aukai acknowledged. "In the event some exist, those who know of such trees may well search for them as well – possibly fighting over them, if they find them. We may be better served looking for a site without one of these Wiggentrees. Somewhere...better hidden."

"Well, whether there's a specific tree there doesn't matter much to me," Ramona remarked. "Though I would prefer something with ruins about, if at all possible. Or in a ruin."

"Ruins?" Shinji echoed, finding this a curious choice. "Why?"

"Places with history make it easier for me to evoke my abilities," the Inupiat girl replied. "And since I'll be brewing…"

"Fair enough," Shinji conceded.

The brewer would be the one whose safety relied on most on the camp's defenses while they were brewing, unlike the scout or defender, who, being more mobile, didn't benefit as much from the camp, unless they chose to sleep for a time.

' _Not that I've needed to sleep during a challenge before, but since this_ is _overnight, it might be a good idea to take shifts on watch.'_

Still, whether or not Ramona's suggestion was practical depended on whether there were any such ruins nearby, and if any of these were…not places that become mass graves over the years, where many an unwary competitor met their end.

After all, it wasn't as if only humans could grasp the basic concept that shelter was more useful than none.

' _And given that the area they were in isn't actually cut off from the rest of the island, I should be careful. Technically we could wander deep into the heart of the isle, though I don't think that would be the wisest idea. I guess I'll ask Zelkova what's around.'_

Shinji himself had focused on what ingredients might be found and their general range and had mostly gotten his head around what ingredients did what, even if Budge warned him that simply checking in a book was no substitute for experimentation, especially with several of the rarest plants or animal parts which had never officially been used in a potion before.

 _'Zelkova, are there ruins near here?'_

The _kodama's_ reply was immediate, though whether it was encouraging was another story.

 _'There are two, Master, both about three kilometers from this point,'_ his familiar detailed. ' _One lies towards the center of the island, and the other very close to shore.'_

' _Which one would be a better shelter?'_

 _'The one that is more central,'_ Zelkova replied. ' _It is not only mostly intact, but is fairly well concealed as well, according to most records, as it is surrounded by a grove of old trees. However, it has been the site of several deaths in the last century. It is suspected that some creature has made those ruins its lair.'_

' _And the other one?_

' _The one by the sea is almost entirely exposed to the elements, without much in the way of cover,'_ came the response.

"So, what are we most concerned about as a team?" Shinji asked out loud. "Our fellow competitors? The environment? The wildlife?"

Ramona and Ka'aukai shared a _look,_ even as the girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"The environment," the Champion of Qausuittuq said after a moment, as she brushed a strand of brown hair from her eyes. "There's going to be a storm tonight. Not a small one either."

"...and how could you know that?" Shinji inquired, narrowing his eyes. Was this a magical trick he could pick up somewhere, or...?

"...I just have a feeling about these things," the other replied lightly. Shinji doubted that was really the case but decided not to make an issue of it. "Best we find shelter and set up camp quickly, before the elements make that...a more difficult exercise."

"So, a well-sheltered ruin then?" Ka'aukai suggested. "I don't particularly care where we go, so long as it is under shelter, since storms can get fairly bad on islands like these. If we can't find a ruin, then a cave or a particularly dense copse of trees, perhaps."

"Matou seemed thoughtful – I think he has something in mind," Ramona observed, with Shinji blinking as she called him out. "Did you have something to suggest, or should we begin moving? Storms can come quickly in the parts."

For Matou Shinji, the decision is simple - if there was a storm coming, and never mind just how Ramona knew that, they needed to get under shelter quickly, and thanks to Zelkova's research, he already knew the location of somewhere that should be fairly well-protected from the elements, so it would be foolish _not_ to use it.

At least, he thought so.

"There's a set of ruins about three kilometers from here," he said out loud, with an expression of surprise flitting across Ka'aukai's face as the Polynesian Champion heard this. _'So he didn't look this up, huh? Wonder what he looked into.'_ "…though a few Champions did die there some years ago, so there might be something else there."

"I see," Ramona noted, nodding. "That's useful to know." She glanced at Ka'au. "How fortunate then, that we have a scout acknowledged by Lady Yamato herself as worthy of the fleet."

Shinji thinks he can see the Polynesian Champion flush slightly at the praise, though he wonders just what a Killer Whale Animagus–

 _'No. He can take on more forms than that,'_ the boy recalled from the opening gala. _'I think he turned into a series of birds. Huh, that's weird, I thought animagi were limited to one form, but well, Luna did say he wasn't exactly like an Animagus, but more like me when I'm fused.'_

"Matou, which way?" Ramona asked, with Zelkova helpfully indicating a bearing and distance in Shinji's mind, and the boy relaying the information onwards. "Well then, Ka'au, would you kindly?"

Ka'aukai nodded, his body lengthening and twisting even as he did so, his arms becoming wings, his legs becoming claws, his form changing into that of one of the largest birds he'd ever seen. An eagle of some sort, and a wickedly curved beak which shot into the sky - in the direction indicated – with a mighty beat of its broad, sweeping wings.

"Let's follow," Ramona directed, setting off herself – her steps much lighter and quieter than Shinji would have imagined.

"Right."

"You said you were a fighter, right?" Ramona questioned before they had gone too far, with Shinji nodding. "You might have the chance to pull your weight then, if there's really something there."

"Mm."

"Also, can you handle scouting from the ground – possibly going into the ruin, while Ka'au covers the air to map the area around it, or should I handle that part?"

"I can do the scouting," Shinji offered.

While it was tempting to hang back and see what Ramona could bring to the table in the way of scouting abilities, Matou Shinji knew that if he did that, he would be expected to contribute more greatly in terms of combat and foraging later on. And well, he had a perfectly serviceable ability for such purposes – even if it did mean revealing fusion.

' _Because I'm not sending Zelkova into an ancient ruin alone.'_

He _breathed_ , pulling the world into him, letting his consciousness – his self – sink deep into the darkness of his mind, where he opened the door separating himself from the rest of reality – from his familiar. Two minds blended. Two souls, reinforcing each other through constructive interference to create something greater than the sum of its parts, as the body of _Matou Shinji_ , the boy from the east, was replaced with something else.

His horned fusion form, clad as usual in a gray Japanese garment, with skin hard as stone.

His awareness expanded, seeping into the earth around him, so that he could feel the moisture within it, the flows of prana underground, the location of every tree and beast rising from it ground, and…Ramona, who seemed rather less like a person to his spiritual senses than a person-shaped void waiting to be filled.

' _Wh…at?'_ He'd never seen anyone who looked like _that_ before, at least not someone who looked so _normal_ to his more mundane senses. Was she…was suppressing her sense of self or…? _'No. I had a job to do.'_

Shaking his head to clear it of distraction, the boy stretched out his senses further, synchronizing himself to the flows and patterns of the world, letting his sense of self fade in a way rendered him invisible, imperceptible, because for all intents and purposes, there was no Matou Shinji, just another piece of the natural world.

At least, until he gathered the will needed to attack, at which point, he'd reassert his individuality.

"Ah, Fusion and one of its higher arts," Ramona noted thoughtfully, seeming not particularly surprised by the boy's display. Then again, he had shown off fusion on his very first day on the island, and had been there when the World Champion had called him out as a fusion user… "I suppose you saw?"

"Saw, you say?" Shinji repeated, though he had a good idea of what she meant. That she seemed…hollow.

"Watch. I wonder, will you understand what I'm about to do?"

Then she too, _breathed_ , and the world – or at least, pieces of it – rushed in to fill the person-shaped void that was Ramona, as what was without flowed within, her emptiness filled by something like spirits of air and earth, her weak outline growing stronger as more and more entered her, shifting her sense of presence and nature from simply human to something...more and less all at once.

' _Her patterns. They're changing. Shifting, even if she looks completely normal to my eyes.'_

That was…very odd. He'd heard a bit about shamans, but…

"Let us go," she said, and Shinji, seeing no reason to refuse, fell into step behind her, both of them moving with speeds faster than most humans were capable of, crossing the distance between them and the hollow in which the ruin was hidden in almost no time at all.

A good thing, too, as around them, the wind was already beginning to rise.

The first thing they noticed was that it was indeed surrounded by a grove of titanic trees, each wider than if Shinji, Ramona, and Ka'aukai all joined hands and stood side by side. The trees whispered, sang, laughed among each other, seemingly unaware of anything else, though when Shinji opened his consciousness to them, he felt—

 **BLOOD**

 _'Blood?'_

 **DECAY. DEATH.**

 _'Huh?'_

The image came of a ruin that was almost like a temple, with something like a clan of trolls – something like trolls – within, and something…else. Something the trolls…worshipped? Something that lurked deep inside where the trees could not see, and whose presence was **death.**

The aquiline form of the Polynesian Champion dropped down next to them, with the man shifting effortlessly to his human form as he touched down, not a hair out of place.

"Aside from a number of Swooping Evils which left this place just a few minutes ago, there are signs of trolls in this hollow, even if none are outside." Ka'aukai reported, wasting not a word with unnecessary banter. "These ruins seem largely intact. A shrine, perhaps."

"Good work," Ramona acknowledged, with a thoughtful nod. "A shrine, you say? Well that would explain the flow of prana here. Gentlemen, surely, we can handle a few trolls between us?"

"...if it were just trolls, then yes, they would be trivial to handle," Shinji agreed, fading into view, as he thought it might be impolite to just be a disembodied voice. "But there's something else there, inside the ruins. Something far more dangerous than any troll."

"Oh? You sensed this?" Ramona questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Or...?"

"I asked the trees," the boy from the East explained with a grimace and a deep exhalation. "They've been here far longer than any of us. Whatever the...thing inside is, they..." He tilted his head as he _listened_. "...they keep watch for it. It cannot pass them. Not while they sing."

"Do they know what it was?"

"They...they cannot describe it, except as death. Blight. **Decay** ," Shinji whispered, feeling a shudder run through him as he gave voice to the observations of the trees. "It was wounded when it came, and the trolls came after it. But now the trolls worship it, feed it. And the islands – the trees – they seek to seal it. Something like that - I'm not sure we should proceed. At the very least, we can't just attack blindly."

At his words, the Kahuna of Nu'utea Kohu and the Champion of Qausuittuq looked at each other, their faces taking on grim – matching – expressions.

"It cannot pass them while they sing?" the Polynesian echoed, his tone seeming to harbor some deep suspicion. "That sounds like something _else_ of which I know."

"...indeed it does," Ramona agreed, shaking her head as she breathed again, and to Shinji's senses, her patterns seemed to ripple. "Though if it were _that_ , I think I would sense it. I've seen things like _that_ before."

"Ah."

"As for you, Matou, you have a point about blindly attacking, but you would not object to proceeding cautiously, would you? We are here, after all, and..." The girl was interrupted as jagged streaks of lightning raced across the sky, the dull roar of thunder crashing over them almost immediately afterwards, with heavy drops of rain beginning to fall towards earth. "Well...I think the weather speaks for itself."

"All three of us seem to have scouting abilities," Ka'aukai Kapule pointed out. "So, let us scout. Trolls we can dispatch quietly. As for whatever they worship..."

"Best we learn, sooner than later," Ramona added, with Shinji startling as he noticed that her eyes now glowed with an unearthly green sheen. "I can go alone, if you wish. But I would prefer all of us join forces. What say you, Matou?"

"Well…"

Despite how uneasy it made him feel, if his team members were committed to this course of action, then Shinji was resolved to see it through with them. After all, they were a team, and frankly, if there was malevolent something deep within, they stood a better chance against whatever it might be together, rather than alone.

"Agreed," the boy stated, nodding. "I'll take point."

If there was one thing he was pretty confident about, it was his ability to take attacks that would kill most other people, at least in fusion form. He had no idea exactly what Ramona's shifting patterns and the spirits she'd breathed into herself let her do, though either way, it probably wasn't a good idea to let the brewer face the brunt of the danger.

 _Where would my pride as a man be if I let a beautiful girl get injured when I can still do something?'_ he asked himself, remembering all too well the encounter with the _tanuki_ , and how powerless he'd felt when the creature had ambushed his party in the frozen wilds, with Rachelle Lestrange left to fight it off - only losing because she hadn't been trying to kill it. _'Besides, this time I have an idea of how dangerous the situation is.'_

And knowing was half the battle, wasn't it?

"I, ah, just hope you have something you can turn into that isn't a bird - or a whale," Shinji said to Ka'aukai, thinking that neither of those would be particularly useful on land. Especially in the confines of a building.

' _Even if a whale thrashes about…'_

"I do, at that," the Polynesian Champion replied mildly, as his form shrank and grew more compact and hairy, turning into something like a small ape with large, black eyes and long, silky hair.

"A demiguise, huh? Been a while since I've seen one of those," Ramona remarked, before shaking her head as Ka'aukai's new form faded from view to conventional senses. "Let's go."

She extended her hand, and through senses other than sight, Shinji could feel the world around them ripple and twist, a sphere of power rising around them that carried part of the power of the earth with them and concealed those within it, as if the spirits within were convincing those without that there was nothing there but empty air and untouched earth.

While they walked in the sphere, they left no footsteps, betrayed no trace of their presence. They were but part of the world.

Shinji took point, with Ka'au playing rear guard, and Ramona in the middle, since neither of the young men were foolish enough to let the party's shaman/brewer go unprotected.

They crossed the distance from treeline to shrine, slipping through the doorway and out of the rain silently.

Inside…it was like another world.

All around them, trolls – something like trolls – shuffled and moved, not seeming to notice the unwanted intruders.

There was little light within the hallways, though for Shinji, and his comrades, the darkness wasn't exactly an issue. They all had other senses, senses which screamed at the wrongness of the place, not least because trolls here were like none they had seen before, and the sounds of the world outside could not be heard even just a step or two past the door.

' _But the trolls…'_

They looked different, with their forms twisted almost beyond recognition into grotesquely swollen masses of pale flesh, shot through with black, web-like veins running through their bodies.

 _'And…they're blind.'_

Indeed, these "trolls" had no eyes, seeming to find their way around by smell, hearing, and touch, well, so much as they moved at all, since they seemed unnaturally still. They barely even breathed, from what Shinji could see.

 _'Though…maybe that's how they deal with the stench.'_

It wasn't the stench of wild trolls – or at least, not the type of any troll he was used to. This was something worse, something sickly-sweet like the scent of blood, of dying, of **death**. **Death** clung to the walls, the ceiling, the floor of the ruins, with the bones of victims – some new, some aged – arranged here and there in "artful" stacks or things like runes.

Skulls of all shapes and sizes. Long bones. Ribs. Vertebrae casually scattered across the floor.

Crushed pieces of what he swore was a pelvis.

And all around him, there was a coating of black blood, interwoven with flecks of red and mottled brown.

There were splatters on the walls. A twisted _gurgle-scream_ that echoed, echoed, _**echoed**_ through the world.

Ramona was visiblly straining here, her body trembling and wavering as patterns from outside – dark patterns, patterns of corruption and decay – tried to encroach upon on their sphere of protection, with her influence repelling it, for now.

 _'It's like an infection. It festers here, in the trolls. In this temple.'_

Some sort of corruption of the natural order which became stronger as they moved closer to the inner sanctum.

' _What the hell is inside?'_

The boy was beginning to wonder if they should turn back when they arrived at what had to be the heart of this darkness, pausing at its boundary as they felt - saw - smelled - _perceived_ a corrosive miasma within the final chamber thicker, more potent, than the stuff from before.

There was _something_ inside.

Something that looked like...

 _'A horse?'_

No, not a horse, though perhaps it would pass for one in a gibbering nightmare, with every dimension stretched beyond what should be. Yes, there was an equine head, with a gaping mouth from which the miasma flowed and a single scarlet-eye that glowed like a burning flame, but there was another head as well - a head and face that was utterly indescribable, about a meter in diameter, mounted atop something like a human torso that emerged there the tail would normally arise.

 _'What the hell is that thing?!'_

Two of its legs, monstrous appendages that rippled with pale sinews, were broken, and it-

 _'Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. It has...it has...'_

It had no skin. With his senses, Shinji could see yellow veins pulsing and throbbing with black blood - the same blood which spilled out onto the floor and walls.

It was...it was...

 _'This must be what corrupted the trolls...'_

They had to…they had to…

 **I SEE YOU.**

A terrible pressure erupted from the creature, and the ruins began to shake and tremble as—

 _'Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. It's calling the trolls.'_

—miasma rushed out at them, with Shinji gamely interposing himself between Ramona and the onrushing darkness, feeling pain lance through him even through the sphere – the buckling sphere – as it ate at his form, with stone and earth peeling away as flecks of darkness struck him, his stony skin melting with hiss to leave only pale, unprotected flesh.

 _'What.'_

Feeling a sense of panic coming on, the boy attempted to raise a wall of earth between him and the creature, only to find that there was _resistance._

More of it than he expected, between the temple liking its shape and the black blood smeared everywhere.

' _Rise. Rise, damn you!'_

The sphere of protection _shrank,_ no longer shielding Shinji, and the boy _screamed_ as the living darkness ripped at him, pain racing through him as if he had no defenses at all. Greater, greater, greater the pressure built, as more and more of the miasma came at him – until, at _last_ , the ground broke, and a wall of earth rose up between him and his enemy, cutting off the assault.

' _Shit…I can't take another hit like that…'_

Behind them, he could hear thunder – the thunder of charging trolls rattling the temple, coming right for them.

' _This is it. I can't…'_

He thought that maybe he'd make some futile last stand, deploy his scythe and cut, cut cut until either they fell, or he did, but before he could do so, a monstrous beast – something like a plumed serpent with claws clear as ice, and teeth that gleamed like molten steel – appeared out of thin air, throwing itself at the trolls with a rage that shook the world itself.

' _The hell?!'_

Rage great enough to set even the trolls aback, as claws, teeth, and bladed tail ripping into them in a berserk frenzy that halted the charge in its tracks.

 _'...is that…is that Ka'au?!'_

It was the only thing that it could be, but how…what _was_ he? What kind of beast…?

But the boy shook his head.

This wasn't the time to ask what hell was going on, not while the Polynesian Champion's latest transformation was the only thing keeping an army of enraged trolls from barreling over them. And well, the earthen wall he'd raised wouldn't last too much longer.

' _Shit. Ramona…'_

He glanced down to see Champion of Qausuittuq, swaying back and forth on her heels, her body unsteady, her breathing pained, with barely within a much-reduced area she was protecting from the corrosion of everything from without.

' _She…she can only protect herself…'_

Her hand clutched a pouch around her neck tightly, as she poured power into it in an attempt at doing _something_ – not that Shinji could see what it was.

Not that he had time to see what it was.

Not as the sounds of battle and unbridled rage issued from all around as evil-shaped trolls made war upon the monstrous form of the Polynesian Champion, their blows raining down upon its nigh-metallic hide with cacophonous gongs even as they screamed as their arms were torn off, throats torn out, stomachs ripped into, genitals gouged out by teeth, by claws, by a bladed tail.

Whatever Ka'aukai had done, whatever he had become, he was far deadlier than any troll could hope to be, though...

 _'No...he's slowing down, isn't he...?'_

Yes, even as the plumed serpent ripped and tore and slashed in a mad frenzy, dealing a mortal wound for every blow it received, the attacks of the enemy were having some effect as more and more kept pouring in each moment, an endless tide of flesh and black blood racing to the slaughter, seeking to overcome through the weight of numbers what they could not through raw power.

 _'I could join him,'_ Shinji thought to himself, considering his options even as he poured his will into sustaining the barrier of earth he'd raised to protect himself – and Ramona – from the monstrous creature behind it: a beast of blood and corruption that sickened and twisted everything it touched with its blood.

Its breath had pushed back the sphere of the world's might Ramona had carried with her from without, forcing her to shield only herself - something that Shinji only realized once he felt the black blood on the floor – which he stood on – begin to leech at his prana, to eat away at his fusion, to tug at the strings of his soul.

 _'How…how is it doing this?!'_

Whatever the method, he couldn't deny its effectiveness, as the boy could feel it getting harder to breathe, could see spots forming in his vision as the rate of draining increased – in time with the assault on his barrier.

 _'Shit. I can't hold it.'_

At least, he wouldn't be able to for much longer, not without it draining every bit of his life away – killing him without him getting in a single blow.

' _I refuse.'_

Ramona, he could see at a glance, was just as badly off, with the brunette's body swaying unsteadily her eyes closed as she clutched the pouch around her neck and mumbled something under her breath, something he couldn't quite make out. Her patterns though - they were shifting again -as in his vision, the solidity she'd gained began to vanish, returning to the void.

 _'I could grab Ramona and run...'_

Yes. He could do that, since the spiritualist was in a rather sorry state, but if he did that the barrier would quickly decay, between the temple stone's desire to return to its normal shape and the corrosive power of the fell creature's breath. Ka'aukai, caught up in battle against countless trolls, would be caught unprepared – certainly he wouldn't be able to disengage.

He would die.

 _'I could attack. Jump over the barrier and use my scythe, or my ofuda. If I can just...just cut off its head, then we have a chance!'_

But if he moved to attack, it would no doubt hit him with its toxic breath – its breath, which had worn away the stone skin fusion had bestowed upon him.

 _'And if it takes out my living wand and scythe, what happens to Zelkova?'_

The only way he saw that might end with all of them alive was if he could negate the corrosive effects of the blood and mist, but how?

There was nothing he could do while he was inside to…

' _Wait. That's it.'_

Opening a path to the world outside.

The bubble that had protected them was a bubble of the world, so if he could just make some kind of opening, use his power over earth to tunnel through the ceiling to the seething storm outside, then maybe…maybe, he could save everyone, even himself.

Slowly, he shifted his power, forcing his awareness into the stone in a way that felt unnatural, as it fought him.

 **NO!** the stone of the temple seemed to scream, resisting will and prana weakened by the black blood of the fell creature he warred against. **NO. NO. NONONONONONONONONONONO.**

" _ **YES,**_ " Shinji snarled, baring his teeth as he launched ofuda filled with the corrosive power of water at the ceiling, with stone melting away as the paper talismans released their cargo, the stone of the temple crying out as if he was hurting it – as if it was a living thing he was torturing. But Shinji didn't care. Whatever pain it might have felt, whatever it might have wanted, neither of these mattered.

Not in the face of what **he** wanted.

Mere stone could not resist **him**. It **would** do as he commanded, he resolved, as he poured everything he had into opening a path, thrusting his power deeper, deeper, deeper into the stone. This was different from raising a wall from the floor – and even that had been difficult enough here. The shrine knew of walls. It knew of its shape. It wanted to be whole.

To just open for another will was a violation of its purpose, for it was meant to provide shelter from the elements.

In his mind, the stones seemed to beg. To plead. To demand him to **stopstopstopstopstop!**...but he'd gone too far to stop.

The barrier of earth collapsed.

Miasma came rushing out towards the party, and as if in a trance, Shinji blocked it with his body, as every nerve lit up in pain once more, his voice an incoherent scream as its power stripped away the defenses that up to now had protected him from death over and over, and then began licking at his soul.

He was close, so close.

If he could just...

 _ **YES!**_

With a shriek like the world falling to pieces, he finished, his power finally pushing through to the outside, leaving a gaping shaft behind, through with fresh air and rainwater fell.

After that, the effects of the beast's fell breath ceased to matter as it did, as Ramona's sphere of protection expanded to envelop him once more, shielding him – healing him, where he had shielded her.

 _'Wha...?'_

Standing tall once more, the brunette stepped forward and past him, her form entirely solid to his spiritual senses, as a line of power connected her with the world outside.

In the stale, fetid air of the temple, the wind began to blow, rushing in from without to disperse the miasma, carrying with it the purifying rain.

It splashed on the walls, on the floor, and black blood _hissed_ , burning away at the water's touch.

The trolls stumbled to a halt as if bound or confused all of a sudden – or if the strings which bound them had been severed – motionless as the rainwater burned them, heavy droplets splattering against their skin and carving deep furrows.

"Let's finish this," Ramona intoned as she stepped towards the creature at the heart of the nightmare, drawing from her pouch a single item: a delicate feather, glowing with a powerful golden light – a light whose glow repulsed the darkness it tried to bring forth to oppose her. "Pitiful creature," she murmured. "Shadow of the seas. Beast which embodies death and decay. _This is the end of your story_."

The Champion walked forward, thrusting out her hand and flinging the feather forth.

There was a powerful cry that filled the air, a trilling of phoenix song, joined moments later by a wail of absolute anguish as the glowing feather struck the fleshless horse-shaped thing and burst into golden flames that burned through the monster from the inside out, as an empowered symbol of life overcame a creature which was death, leaving no trace that the beast – the _**nuckelavee**_ – had ever existed.

Well, except for the misshapen trolls, which in the absence of their dark master, collapsed bonelessly to the ground as golden fire burned through them – racing through the connection that had once bound them, erasing the power that kept them in this twisted state of near-life, the light burning away the black blood, their unlife - as the wind carried it through the shrine as a whole.

Light and water, and wind blazed, brighter, brighter than the very sun.

And then once more, it was dark.

"It is over," Ramona declared with a breath.

And so it was, as Shinji finally, mercifully fell to his knees, barely aware of what was going on around him, and the monstrous form of Ka'aukai, with every troll dead and no more trolls before him, staggered against the wall, shifting back into his human shape from whatever the thing he'd become was.

He breathed once, twice, three times, and then, like the trolls, slumped to the floor, leaving the trio exhausted but victorious and the defiled shrine _reclaimed_.


	77. Sturm und Drang

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 76.** _Sturm und Drang_

' _I really wasn't ready for this…'_

So Matou Shinji thought to himself as he was slammed against a tree, his world going white as back of skull met unyielding wood. He struggled, trying to escape the grip of his invisible assailant, but no matter how he thrashed, how he fought, he could not win.

Not against the fury of nature itself.

" _Damnit…"_

The word came out as a whisper – not that it would have mattered if he'd shouted, as the rolling thunder of the tempest that had engulfed the island drowned out any attempt at speech. But then, that was to be expected on a night where the winds raged violently enough to lift a grown man off his feet, with heavy raindrops crashing down so closely together they formed something like a wall.

Everything – the ground, the trees, the very air – was painted a strange grey-white, bleached of all color, save for a hint of azure or purple now and then in the flickering heartbeats when the sky was set ablaze in the aftermath of lightning shooting from ground to cloud, and cloud to ground somewhere near the center of the island.

' _Well. When there still_ was _any lightning…'_

He realized then that he hadn't seen the effects of any such in the last few minutes and found that he was…worried.

 _'Huh. That's weird.'_

Well, the whole situation was weird, really, with the storm coming upon them so quickly and growing to something of this magnitude, but it was really what he had seen earlier that had disturbed him.

Lightning coming down in thick coils and knots, lightning that moved through the air like some kind of divine serpent.

What kind of natural phenomenon would cause such a thing? Was there some kind of rare element towards the center of the island? Some structure? A concentration of prana so dense that it affected the world around it? Was it the work of some magical beast?

Shinji didn't know.

 _'And I probably won't find out unless I manage to get to the center – not that I think that would be a great idea.'_

The boy shook his head slowly and turning his head so that the wind wouldn't rush down his throat and leave him sputtering, took a deep breath as he sought to center himself.

' _I guess… at least wandering about in a rainstorm is familiar?'_

He'd done something like this in his final Potions Challenge at Hogwarts, when he'd faced off against Harry for the privilege of representing Hogwarts in the Championship. He'd won, too, and without the benefit of fusion, though admittedly, he'd had Zelkova harry Harry for the duration of the challenge, keeping the Boy-Who-Lived off balance and only able to react.

' _My victory then wasn't because I had power. It was because I kept my foe off balance. I should remember that, since the same applies here.'_

Yes, with all the water around him, he could probably do something ridiculous like rain down a hundred spears of ice on someone, or unleash a torrent of black sludge that could consume a person and leave nothing behind, but well…

' _None of it matters if I can't move.'_

The moment he'd stepped beyond the protective circle of trees surrounding the ruin, the full force of the elements had crashed into him, slamming his frail human form against a very solid trunk.

' _Though I guess I should be grateful. With weather like this, no one is likely to stumble on us. Everyone has probably taken shelter and won't be leaving it unless the storm dies down – or they have no other choice.'_

Well, unless they had some ability to control the local weather or was in possession of some talisman that would protect him from the wind entirely, but there were only a few people like _that_ he could think of, and they didn't _need_ such an advantage to utterly crush him.

' _I should ask Lockhart if he has any experience with this sort of thing,'_ Shinji mused, thinking that an item that would allow a person to ignore the effects of weather was something the adventurer likely knew about or had access to.

 _'Heh. It would explain why Lockhart designed these robes in a way that lets the wearer fade away into the fog or rain like some grey phantom.'_ He _had_ wondered about that, since his current outfit was rather less outlandish than what he'd seen the History Professor wear, but maybe that was the point. The man was an Assassin, after all, and the very fact that he wore such outlandish robes most of the time only made it more likely that someone would overlook him if he was dressed in something plain, say a dark grey robe at night, robes in off-white when he was wandering in a desert, or something grey in a storm. _'I could stand to spend more time learning from him. I mean, just look at how he trained Pansy.'_

If someone had asked him before this year if he saw Pansy becoming his equal in combat, the boy would have said that such was impossible, especially after he'd unlocked the secrets of fusion, but now…

' _Guess it means I just have to keep on pushing myself if I don't want to get left behind, no matter how easy it would be to get complacent. Or to just think that I'm in some no-win situation so I shouldn't even try.'_

If he stopped growing, others would surpass him. And if he simply accepted that…well, then he wouldn't be the Matou Shinji whose chains had been broken through victory.

' _I'm here on this island. I've survived everything its tossed at me so far. And I won't give up now.'_

Yes, his foes outclassed him, but…he hadn't lost yet, right? And it wasn't as if he was the only one hampered by this weather.

' _As far as I'm concerned, if my chance of victory isn't 0, that means I should strive to make it 100, right? And well...someone needs to get ingredients. I told Ramona_ I _would, since Ka'au wasn't awake yet_ , _and I don't like breaking promises._ '

Which meant that the boy knew what he had to do.

He didn't particularly _want_ to, but since Ka'au was still injured…

' _Zelkova, I need some help.'_

* * *

Half a world away, Pansy Parkinson, too, was learning what it felt like to be pinned down by an implacable enemy, though this one was somewhat more substantial than the winds which trapped Matou Shinji.

' _You've reached the next stage of your training, he said. You should take on a new challenge, he said. He never said that I would be fighting singlehandedly against Mad-Eye Moody!'_

Granted, it wasn't the real thing, just a simulated version of him brought into being by the _Book of Spells_ , and she didn't necessarily have to _defeat_ him, just to reach the Room of Hidden Things without him following her, where a hidden vanishing cabinet would allow her to escape to a safehouse, but…

 _Whirr! Fzzt!_

The girl threw herself to the side as an explosion tore through the space she'd stood, silently casting twin shield charms to deflect a brace of spellbeams aimed unerringly for her head.

' _It's like he can see through my movements, predict what I'm going to do.'_

Disillusionment was useless – the man's artificial eye let him penetrate magical disguises with contemptuous ease. Neither did conjuring smoke do any good, as his eye could see through that to what lay beyond.

' _I can't even summon his eye out of his socket!'_

Then again, if it was _that_ easy to stop Mad-Eye Moody, he wouldn't have survived the Great War, or become a name that Dark Wizards hated and feared.

' _At least the battlefield is Hogwarts, so it's a place I know well, and one Moody isn't willing to tear down around me.'_

That said, the virtual Hogwarts in which she fought was no friendly place either, given that most of the students in the simulation, while not willing to fight her wand to wand, _were_ willing to alert the implacable Auror to her current location.

In some ways, it reminded her of one of the _Kobayashi_ _Maru_ scenarios the _Ourea_ faced each year, where victory was _theoretically_ possible, but one's chances of reaching it were so slim it might as well be a no-win scenario.

' _Just like here, to win, I either have to evade this fake Moody or beat him.'_

Neither of which were exactly something that she, just about a year into her training, felt able to do, given how _fast_ the old Auror was for a crippled old man. With just one good leg, he was able to keep pace with her on _two_ , and the sheer power behind his spells was something terrifying.

' _I can match power with power if I cast with both wands, but…'_

That meant sacrificing speed and flexibility, and whatever else she did, Pansy Parkinson couldn't afford _that._ Not when…

 _Whirr! Whirr!_

A trio of green bolts came around the corner, flying unerringly towards her – an attack she barely managed to deflect with a hastily cast shield spell, with the bolts veering off towards a wall, before _slowing in mid-air and shooting back towards her._

' _What in Merlin's name?!'_

Once again, she deflected the bolts, and _once again_ , they came back towards her, even as Mad-Eye Moody himself came around the corner, his wand moving in a certain—

' _Oh SHIT!'_

Pansy almost lost consciousness as she was hurled into a wall by an explosion, with the green bolts slamming into her while she was helpless, sapping her of her strength.

The only reason she didn't drop her wands was that she'd used the sticking charm to make sure she wouldn't lose them earlier.

Still, merely her wands meant nothing if she couldn't muster the strength to use them, and as a bright red bolt tore through the air, flying at her exposed face, she could only think of one thing.

' _Hilde…help.'_

* * *

In the wake of the nuckelavee's defeat, Shinji and Ramona had set to work ensuring that the rest of the shrine really had been cleansed of the demon's influence, with the Champion of Qausuittuq using rainwater that was somehow glowing with the faint echo of golden flames to thoroughly scour the walls and floor, and the boy placing a number of ofuda on the walls in the wake of her cleaning.

"You don't need to do that, you know," Ramona had noted mildly, though she hadn't bothered stopping him as he laid a few around the doors and ceiling, manipulating the prana within them so they would not react to his teammates – and so he could seal any breaches if necessary, or teleport to a place at need. "We're not likely to be attacked."

"Better safe than sorry," the boy had replied, shaking his head. "If anyone else knows about this ruin, they might decide to come seek shelter from the storm here."

"Don't you have your familiar asking the trees to hide the pattern of this place from prying eyes?" Ramona had asked, with Shinji blinking.

"...admittedly yes, but such a thing might not defeat someone...with abilities like mine," the boy had said, choosing his words with care. And it was true. Someone like Sajyou Ayaka wouldn't be deterred for more than a moment by whatever defenses they set up – or someone like Elesa Labelle, for that matter.

"Not that I think that the Japanese Champion would particularly need shelter from the storm," Ramona had noted after a moment. "She doesn't seem the type to be inconvenienced by a bit of inclement weather."

"True," Shinji had conceded, with something of a wry smile. "Unlike us."

"Heh. People like us are limited compared to those without limits, it's true," the Champion of Qausuittuq had admitted. "But that just means that we turn our limits into strengths. Perhaps we don't have the raw power others might, or the sheer array of abilities. That doesn't mean we can't triumph with skill and using what we have to our advantage."

"...speaking of raw power," Shinji had said, glancing at Ramona as they reached the entrance of the shrine. They had found themselves looking out upon the sky, where towards the center of the island, a vortex of...no, coils of azure lightning bridged ground and sky - one of the only things they could actually see, through rain so heavy it was almost a solid wall. "...you know, I've never seen lightning act like that before. This island is...strange."

"Well, it could be there is something special about the ruins at the center," the Inupiat girl had noted with a shrug. "There's an ancient serpent that guards it, they say, centuries old at least. And not so easily beaten as what we fought."

"Not as easily beaten, huh?" Shinji had snorted, shaking his head. Whatever that _thing_ was, it had managed to break through the defenses of fusion. No. It was more accurate to say that it had stripped away his defenses. "That reminds me, how _did_ you beat that thing?" the boy had asked, raising his eyebrows. "You were suffering pretty badly until I opened a hole through the ceiling—"

"—thank you for that, by the way."

"—and then after that, you stood up and threw...something like a feather at it. And it just burned up." The boy had some trouble processing just how a feather was enough to beat such a powerful beast. "How...?"

"At a high enough level, magical combat isn't about how much power you can bring to bear, but the concepts you employ. Just as the Nuckelavee was decay given form, bringing death to all living things, the phoenix is a symbol of life after death, of rebirth and purification. Against its power, even death may be defeated, and so it was."

"Huh. Conceptual warfare, huh?" Shinji muttered. He knew concept well enough. His former Master had often spoken of it, and it wasn't as if onmyouji – even those like him who used a variant of the craft – didn't use such things against spirits. Though... "But you're not a phoenix, and that wasn't a talisman exactly, so how...?"

Ramona chuckled.

"I am what some would call a shaman," the young woman had noted. "One who touches the world of spirits and borrows their power."

"...so that's what happens when your...when your patterns change. You borrow their power – and that changes you, doesn't it?"

"Yes. My body is a vessel for spirits," Ramona had explained. "I gather the fragments of their inchoate powers and bind them for a purpose. In the fight, I took in the power of the air and channeled it into a phoenix feather I carried, awakening the echo of a phoenix's might it carried within it. Things remember what they were once part of, after all, and with a strong enough...stimulus, that memory can be brought to the surface." She had smiled then, a faint expression that Shinji found most curious. "Not that high-quality phoenix feathers are exactly common – or cheap – given how wand-makers like to snap them up, so I would prefer not to have to do something like that again. I have a very limited stock in my pouch, after all."

"You have anything else that might be useful in there?" the boy had inquired.

"I do," the brunette had agreed, but said no more. After a moment she'd sighed. "Let's go back inside and check on Ka'au. He'll probably be waking up soon, after sleeping off the strain of entering tanifa form."

"Tanifa?"

"I guess you could call it a guardian or a monster, I suppose. Not that either are exact translations, but they'll will do."

"How...?"

"We both borrow from the world. We just have different ways of doing it. Different ways of expressing our abilities," the girl had explained, before changing the topic. "So, are you feeling a bit better now? I know that you took the miasma of that creature head on..."

"I'll be fine," the boy had said brusquely. "I mean…yes, it hurt, but we were all hurting. My familiar got the worst of it, honestly."

"He is a rather powerful spirit, with an affinity for the trees."

"Yes. He doesn't particularly fear death, but neither does he like being surrounded by it."

"Few things do, Matou."

There had been something of a beat as they lingered at the entrance.

"One of us should probably go outside. Gather some ingredients," Shinji had said. "I don't think the remains of those trolls are going to be much good."

"Well, maybe if you wanted to make a poison or something. Or something that would disrupt the effects of curses," Ramona had mused. "But yes, one of us should. Are you volunteering?"

Shinji had opened his mouth to suggest something, but then closed it, remembered that Ka'au was still unconscious, for all that he'd been treated with Ramona's healing magic, and that Ramona was likely better off making basic preparations for brewing using what ingredients she could find in the sheltered clearing outside the shrine and otherwise making sure Ka'aukai recovered.

"…I guess I am," the boy had agreed.

Granted, he still hadn't completely recovered, but he was probably the most…expendable of the three if it came down to it.

And well, if he was lucky, maybe there wouldn't be combat involved.

Maybe.

* * *

Pansy had never thought she'd be so happy to see her _tanuki_ familiar appear before her, shifting from being her belt into well, a copy of _her._ Her _doppelganger_ tried to take hold of her wands so that she could use them against the enemy before her, only to find that the wands were stuck fast – and that the enemy was already attacking once more, with those sinister green bolts.

' _Huh…why…?'_

Pansy wondered why it wasn't another explosion before she realized that the Auror was trying to take her alive. Her mind though, was too fuzzy to let go of her wands so the _tanuki_ could take them, or to remember the command to release the sticking charm.

So perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised that the _tanuki,_ refusing to go down without a fight,just draped her over its back while grabbing on to her arms, to use the wands she still held.

" _ **Avada kedavra!"**_ her doppelganger intoned, the emerald-green beam leaving one of the wands, bouncing off a purple spell-beam that she had silently cast from the other, and striking the trio of green spell-bolts, erasing their existence, along with its own.

' _Huh.'_

And while the simulated Moody dealt with whatever the purple beam was, the _tanuki_ was already casting again, this time with a dualcast _Confringo_ , its destructive power amplified tenfold by the brother-wand effect.

Even a legendary Auror like Mad-Eye Moody couldn't just endure something like _that_ unscathed – not without something like the Elder Wand, at any rate – though Hilde didn't expect a mere explosion to kill the man.

 _That_ and it wasn't like she could stand her ground after casting it, since that particular spell was not exactly something one wanted to be anything close to. No, the moment the spell was away, she had taken the form of a troll and had begun to run – well, lumber – away as fast as she could, her steps thundering on stone as she sought to outrace the blast wave, with the groaning form of Pansy carried before her protectively.

She raced for one of the stairwells that would take her higher up – they were only on the third floor, where they had successfully navigated a series of traps in a hidden corridor to retrieve a shiny red stone, and they needed to reach the seventh to escape with their stolen treasure, hoping that Moody wouldn't recover before they reached the next level.

' _Ugh…'_ Pansy groaned, watching the next floor come closer – closer – closer, as they ascended – before all of the sudden, their ascent came to a sudden halt as— _'The stairs. Moody took out the stairs.'_

They were falling.

Rather, the whole stairway was falling, the magic which kept it aloft no longer active thanks to the enemy wizard's spell – whatever it had been.

"Hilde! Jump!"

The _tanuki,_ having no other options, raced up what was left of the stairway, and trusting in her adopted form's muscles, took a leap of faith.

* * *

The boy's initial call for help was met with silence, leaving Shinji rather worried.

 _'Zelkova, can you come join me?'_ the boy asked again. _'If you're not too out of sorts to help out after dealing with...that thing.'_

This time, a sense of acknowledgement came over the link he shared with the _kodama_ , accompanied by the sensation of bone-deep weariness.

 _'I will not be able to fuse, or control the earth without a good deal of difficulty, but it would not overtax me to accompany you, Master,'_ the familiar responded via their mental link.

' _Thank you, Zelkova,'_ Shinji thought warmly. _'Still…are you alright?'_

'I will recover, Master. The aftereffects were less unpleasant than being hit with what practitioners of Witchcraft refer to as the Killing Curse,' the _kodama_ noted, not that this was particularly reassuring for Shinji, as he remembered that his familiar had needed quite a bit of time to recover from the spiritual shock of having the fusion forcibly interrupted. _'In any case, I remain functional. I assume you wish me to help augment your senses?'_

 _'You know me too well.'_

Shinji waited patiently against the tree – not that he could do much else – until he felt Zelkova's presence nearby, with new strength flooding into his body from…

' _From the tree?'_

' _I hope you do not mind, Master, but I spoke to the trees on your behalf, asking them to grant you a blessing to endure the storms as they do.'_

'… _thank you,'_ the boy communicated – and he truly was thankful, for his strength seemed to be increased now, and his sense of mass, such that the wind could no longer just pick him up. It wasn't anything like what he could do with fusion, but…it would do. _'You also had the trees hide the ruins from sight, right?'_

' _Correct.'_

With his newfound range of motion, Matou Shinji turned around, curious what effects Zelkova speaking to the trees would have, only to find himself more than mildly surprised when all he saw was a dense, unremarkable copse of trees, with no sign that there was anything past them but yet more trees.

 _'A simple illusion, but it's one people would expect to see. I might even be fooled, if I didn't know better.'_

Since he did – and had _ofuda_ back in the shrine that he could flow back to – it was a bit of a moot point, but regardless, he felt relieved knowing that others wouldn't be inclined to come here, if they didn't already know it existed.

' _Right. Then we should look for ingredients.'_

The team was relying on him – them, and despite his intensive studies of the Catalog of Ingredients back in the CAS Archives, that knowledge was no substitute for the natural abilities of a tree spirit like Zelkova.

 _'Do you have suggestions, Master? While I am a tree spirit, I cannot easily tell the effects of one plant from another, if you wish to use them in potions.'_

Shinji sighed.

He'd forgotten about his familiar's difficulties in that area, and how the _kodama_ had found it trivial to look for a certain type of tree, if he knew what to seek out, but otherwise had troubles.

' _Well, most plants used for potions ingredients would be magical – probably more magical than the other plants around?'_ the boy hazarded. It wasn't as if he could tell himself, since the white-grey rainitself was laden with prana, serving as a sort of signal interference to his spiritual senses.

Under normal circumstances, the weather wouldn't be as great an impediment to him as it might be to others, as he had learned to extend his prana into the earth and into water, but for some reason, the rain felt almost opaque to his senses, with his prana unable to find purchase in it.

 _'Is it because there's so much ambient mana in the air and ground?'_ he wondered, frowning. Or was it a sign that the storm was not entirely...natural in its origins, perhaps conjured up by some great beast that dwelt here.

Either way, he didn't think his limited abilities would be enough.

Sadly, Zelkova, the being who had accompanied him through every one of his challenges for the last two years, didn't have a great deal of luck either.

 _'The prana-rich waters of this storm interfere with my sensing abilities to an extent, Master,'_ the _kodama_ reported, with Shinji biting back a curse. _'However…there are some spots with greater concentrations, with the nearest patch being about a kilometer from here.'_

' _Huh. A kilometer, that's not too far.'_

Though…a prana source that one could detect even through this sort of interference had to be pretty strong, and was it necessarily a set of plants?

' _The trees also recall a small grove that many have stopped in over the years somewhat further along the isle, two kilometers away from here,'_ the _kodama_ added.

Shinji smiled as he heard this piece of actionable information.

"Well, then we make for the grove," the boy stated confidently. If other people had stopped there, it was likely there was something of use in that place. "Let's be off."

 _'If you desire, Master, I can muster the strength for a bounded field to ward off the rain and wind,'_ the familiar offered. _'Though that will render me unable to support you in battle, or to enhance your senses.'_

Shinji was tempted – sorely tempted – by the offer, but…

'… _no. I need you to remain invisible and keep an eye out for danger. Other people might detect a bounded field, and I'd rather we keep that as a surprise, just in case.'_

' _As you wish.'_

* * *

Thanks to judicious mid-air shifting to a less…massive form, allowing their existing velocity to carry them further than it otherwise might, Hilde and Pansy made it handily to the fourth floor, leaving a furious Mad-Eye Moody behind.

There were some others on the way to the seventh floor – mostly army trainees, who they were confident they could beat, but neither chose to engage in any unnecessary aggressions, with Pansy going disillusioned, wearing Hilde – who was in the shape of an invisibility cloak – for good measure.

It wasn't that they thought the trainees were a threat, not after facing down the greatest Auror of Britain, so much as if they fought, they would give away their location, since she was sure that Moody would be coming up soon enough when he found a broom.

' _And if we fight, if we alert others we are here, that would leave us trapped.'_

Since no one else knew of the Room of Hidden Things in this scenario – or at least she assumed they didn't – no doubt if she kept quiet, she could reach her destination unmolested, with any pursuers thinking she must have taken refuge in a classroom or be seeking to escape from a classroom with a window.

In the end, she was proven right, as she made it to the Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things, and the scenario ended, leaving her facing her Mentor, who for once was dressed in simple, black robes.

"An impressive performance, my apprentice," the Assassin intoned.

"Thank you, Mentor. It was an…interesting challenge," Pansy replied, with Hilde once more taking her form. "Though I have to wonder, why a scenario like this, with me taking an artifact out of Hogwarts? Why not have me fight a Dark Wizard or something?"

"Miss Parkinson, you would have expected a Dark Wizard," her Mentor replied coolly. "And with your training, and your familiar, you would have found little challenge in that. By and large, Dark Wizards are not…especially creative. Nor are they especially numerous, meaning that a competent population would have little trouble dealing with an outbreak."

"…are you calling Magical Britain incompetent, Mentor?"

"In the case of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, I suppose there may have been extenuating circumstances, given the man's personal power, and how at first he limited his attacks to those who were clearly combatants or affiliated with them."

"But by the end…"

"By the end, Voldemort was not truly in control of the forces he unleashed," Lockhart explained, shaking his head. "Yes, he was a symbol of fear, and would tolerate no disobedience in those he directed personally, but there were who sought his favor but who did not report…directly to him."

"…ah."

"We have that lack of control to thank for his eventual defeat," the Assassin commented. "After all, had a band of…overzealous followers not murdered a goblin family in the 1970s, it is possible that the goblins would have aligned themselves with the Dark Lord, much like the werewolves and a number of giants. Had they joined the war on his side, the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix may not have had a chance to fight back."

"I see. But what about Dumbledore? Wasn't he the only wizard the Dark Lord ever feared?"

"That _is_ what they say, but as powerful as he was, he had…issues that prevented him from using his power effectively."

"You mean…what happened with Grindelwald."

"Indeed. There is a saying among the non-magical that generals fight the last war. Albus Dumbledore was revered for being the hero of what some call the Global Wizarding War, but few remember is how he delayed, refusing to intervene until it was nearly too late because of his hidden sympathies to Grindelwald and his ideals. With Voldemort, Dumbledore could have acted much earlier, but…he did not, once more delaying. And so Magical Britain nearly fell into ruin, with the Order of the Phoenix only established in the 1970s, _after_ the Ministry had begun its counterattack."

"So, if the goblins had allied with Voldemort…"

"There would have been force that could have stopped him. Not even the vaunted Albus Dumbledore."

"…so why is it, Mentor, that even today, the goblins are ignored? Considered second class citizens? Savages?"

"Because wizards – like the muggles they so denigrate – dismiss what they do not understand as insignificant, not realizing that to do so is the sheerest folly. Did the Ministry truly understand the course of history, they would not have sealed themselves away from the world, seeking strength in division, but in unity. They would have reached out to the goblins and the other downtrodden magical races, and perhaps together, a new nation might have been forged. A stronger nation. A nation of equals under the law."

"But Mentor, there will always be inequality, whatever the law says," Pansy pointed out.

"It is true, but that is no excuse to perpetuate generations of oppression for the sake of tradition and short-lived _unity,"_ Lockhart stated after a moment, smiling sadly. "Even if one believes it is for the greater good."

"…things were tense at Durmstrang, especially after Miss Delacour and Mister Krum were attacked," Pansy admitted. "Some have tried to defuse tensions, but…"

"I am aware of the tragic consequences, and the innocents that have suffered," the Assassin noted grimly. "And I wonder how much more suffering will be caused when the students of Hogwarts at Durmstrang return to Britain, only to be indoctrinated further."

"It might be better if they didn't get the chance to return at all," his apprentice quipped, shaking her head as she glanced over at her Mentor, who looked singularly unamused. "Mentor?"

"An…interesting observation, Miss Parkinson."

* * *

With the blessing of the trees, Matou Shinji had little trouble making his way through the raving wind and waters, especially since Zelkova helpfully indicated where he needed to go with something like a marker in his vision.

Still, even if he didn't have trouble moving about, it didn't mean he was exactly comfortable in the weather, especially not as the temperature began to drop and hailstones the size of grapefruits came crashing through the forest canopy.

Taking a vial from his belt, the boy downed doses of girding and pepper-up potion, which at least let him feel warmer, though it did nothing against the hailstones.

He was tempted – very tempted – to ask Zelkova for one of those bounded fields after all, but managed to dismiss the temptation as folly.

' _After all, if I'm discovered out here, it will be for naught.'_

He might be able to freeze enough water to conjure a shield of ice as well, but that too would be noticeable, so he simply soldiered on, moving from tree to tree, trying to take advantage of natural cover as much as he could.

' _Just a little more...just a little more and we will—'_

But his thoughts were rudely interrupted.

 _'Master. There are people present in the grove ahead.'_

Shinji suppressed the urge to curse.

 _'Who?'_

 _'Two males, Master. They are within a transfigured shelter, though there enough prana laced into the structure and the area around it that I cannot tell you more than that.'_

The boy sighed.

Two males.

That meant it was either the Brazilian and African Champions in there or the Indian and Russian Champions.

' _Well, I guess I won't be approaching them, not after that…manly picnic disaster.'_

Still, they'd come too far to turn back, and with the weather getting _worse_ , if that was even possible, if he didn't act now, there might not be another chance to grab ingredients.

' _Master? What is the plan?'_

' _We're still going in, we'll just avoid the shelter. I doubt either will be coming outside anytime soon, so it should be perfectly safe.'_

' _As you say, Master.'_

Though he did indeed discover interesting plants in the grove, including Niffler's Fancy and Wiggentrees – the latter being presumably why someone had sheltered here – the boy would come to regret his words when, in the process of harvesting ingredients, an oversized bear attacked, tearing his head clean off.

…or at least, it would have, had Zelkova not bisected it with a bounded field, whereupon it transformed into two smaller bears and pressed the attack.


	78. The Truth in the Dark

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 77.** _The Truth in the Dark_

' _How the…?'_

Matou Shinji had never seen a spell that would let a bear survive being cut in half, much less allowing each half to become a new bear, with both new creatures seeming identical to the one that had nearly killed him.

' _No…not identical, not exactly.'_

He realized this as one barreled towards him with all the power that a brown bear was capable of, while the other took advantage of the first's recklessness to circle around the boy.

' _They're…cooperating?'_ the boy wondered, though he didn't have long to ponder the situation, not with an irate beast after his blood – and which _would_ take his head if he tried to ignore it. _'Zelkova, watch my back.'_

' _Yes, Master,'_ came the kodama's dutiful reply.

Reassured by this, the boy willed his living weapon into his hand, silently commanding it to grow to the limits of its weight and length. In an instant, what had been a wand became something like a staff, and then grew even longer than that, with a wicked-looking blade of sickly green light manifesting at its tip.

The enemy, seeming to recognize the threat to its survival if it kept coming right at the boy, attempted to slow, but the momentum of a killing machine of flesh and bone that weighed half a ton couldn't be ablated too easily.

So instead, it swerved at the last possible moment, even as Shinji sprang into motion, his pike-staff shrinking to a more manageable size as he turned and _thrust_ , slamming the pointed end against the creature's snout, before twisting just so, letting the blade of prana he'd manifested boil away the beast's eyes.

Yet…the bear didn't stop.

Didn't roar. Didn't rear up in pain. Didn't _react_ to what would have no doubt enraged any living creature.

'… _wait. That's right. It's not really a living creature.'_

Zelkova had mentioned that the bear that attacked him had originally been _part of the shelter_ , and though he hadn't paid much attention before, he seemed to remember that the duplicates of the bear had seemed smaller at first, before growing bigger – with the ground vanishing under them as they did.

 _'So. Not bears. Not really. Self-replicating constructs transfigured from the dirt without any of living beast's weaknesses...'_

And as such, obviously the work of Mischa Stukov, Champion of Koldovstoretz, who'd displayed a peculiar gift for creating and controlling such…constructs.

 _'Admittedly, I didn't think he'd make it so that a piece that was cut off would become another bear of the same size, but the Russians did always have some strange arts.'_

For example, while it was often noted that in the ill-fated Quidditch World Cup of 1809, the Romanian Beater Niko Nenad had - in a particularly egregious show of bad sportsmanship - awakened a forest and had it march upon the stadium when victory was no longer possible, few remembered that he had not been responsible for the spellwork, but had paid several wizards native to the location (the Western Siberian Plains) to do so. (He in fact, had no control over the trees besides deciding the moment they would awaken and attack, something which would prove his undoing, as he was one of the first casualties of that catastrophe). There were other spells, of course, that the Russians had access to that the West did not, particularly those in the Siberian Communities, far from Western Civilization - just as their myths and legends were not those of the West.

Where wizards in the West had gone into hiding to escape the wrath of the Holy Church (and the more mundane witchcraft trials that arose all around Europe as prelates in the Church sought to seize the lands of wealthy men and women, those of Russia - and what was now Ukraine – instead saw the Church as an ally, for had Knights of the Church not helped to end the reign of the great Makar Zolgen, the Master of Wyrms who had terrorized Kiev for a generation?

Had it not been, instead, the chaos inspired by leaders like Ivan the Terrible and his Oprichniki – and later, the Time of Troubles in the wake of Ivan's death – that had so devastated the magical and non-magical populations of Old Rus? Had it not been the greed of the (Catholic) Polish King which had led to atrocity upon atrocity being forced upon the people, with the entire population of Vologda destroyed, and cities like Moscow put to the torch, with people screaming in their houses? And in the wake of the armies, had Polish wizards not taken Russian lands? Looted wizarding families? Visited depredation upon depredation on their fellow magicals?

It was in that war that Russian wizards came to see the rest of the world as the enemy, with their countrymen, magical or otherwise, being the only ones they could rely on as they banded together out of necessity. To hide their fellows from the ravages of the armies, to fight for their country against the Poles, the Turks, and whoever else might seek to take advantage of them, to seek vengeance for their slain sons and debauched daughter, their brothers and sisters killed at the hands of followers of the Western Church.

They even passed information to the famous Kuzma Minin, the Squib merchant who distinguished himself as a commander of the Second Volunteer Army, becoming a national hero for his role in driving the Poles out of Moscow.

...not that those who knew of his ancestry were at all surprised by his feats, for though a Squib, he was descended from one the Russians Wizards saw as a figure of legend, the hero of light who had given his life to drive out the Dark Lord Zolgen.

In the wake of these dark times, they would have continued forth as a single country, save for the imposition of the unwanted International Statute of Secrecy, which ripped fathers from sons, mothers from daughters – all because of an accident of birth. Yet, protest though Russia might, the wizards of the West were ready to enforce their statute at wandpoint, and the Russian people remembered all too well the atrocities committed by the Poles – and how vulnerable they were in Kiev and Moscow – in civilized lands.

So, they moved East, out beyond civilized lands. They moved to Siberia and Russian Far East, isolated places where they could fortify their villages and develop great magics to protect themselves from those who sought to do them harm – wild magics, magics that would have been forbidden, or at least heavily restricted in the West.

The construct magic – the magic that Mischa Stukov, descendant of the Hero of Light and of Kuzma Minin employed – was part of this new tradition, allowing the creation of autonomous defenses that could…proactively hunt down threats.

Yet this magic, designed to fight off beasts or the wizards of the West, whose offensive magics were feeble and limited, had not proved especially effective against _onmyouji_ , something which had been demonstrated in the Russo-Japanese War.

And which was shown again here, when Matou Shinji, appalled at how brute force or cunning could not slay his ursine attackers, and how he could not even stun them, due to their lack of pain response, unleashed the arts of _his_ countrymen, with two slips of paper flying from his sleeves, speeding unerringly through the rain towards the bears themselves.

Not recognizing _these_ as a threat, the bears pressed their attack, letting the pieces of paper do what they would.

The results were devastating.

Paper latched onto fur and _melted,_ with snouts and eyes – skulls, necks, skin and fur beginning to fester and boil, melting into a black bubbling mess as the corrupt prana within the _ofuda_ devoured the magic within the constructs, using it to speed the corrosion. Head, spine, body, legs...by the time the constructs came with a handbreadth of him, only their feet remained, and soon those too, dissolved into hissing black mud, washed away by the rain, leaving Matou Shinji alone in the clearing once more.

' _If it cannot be destroyed because of the magic empowering it, then the key isn't destroying the construct. It is neutralizing the magic that gives it form and function.'_

That was something _ofuda_ – his _water_ ofuda in particular – were quite capable of, especially when in the midst of a great downpour.

'… _well done, Master,'_ Zelkova's voice came through their link, though the _kodama_ seemed somewhat more fatigued than usual. _'Shall we continue here, or leave? I doubt those constructs were the only defenses protecting this place.'_

' _True, but after facing something like this, I'm not about to leave empty-handed.'_

Time was of the essence, Matou Shinji knew. Yes, he'd defeated the creatures that had emerged from the shelter to attack him, leaving the clearing free of enemies, yet who knew how long that state of affairs would last? He'd never dealt with a defense that spawned transfigured beasts before - hadn't known such a thing was possible.

But then, it did no good to underestimate his opponents, and who knew – perhaps that was only phase one of the trap? Perhaps there was something else they'd rigged up, leaving the Niffler's Fancy and Wiggentrees as the bait for something even deadlier than those constructs had been.

One way or another, he had to find out.

' _As you wish, Master. I simply note that neither of us are performing at our optimal levels.'_

 _'Granted, but we've come all this way. It would be folly to just leave with rare ingredients within our reach. Who knows when we'll get a second chance?'_

Especially since Ka'aukai – his Polynesian teammate – had still been unconscious when he'd left. Surely getting the ingredients to make the Wiggenweld Potion – or really, was the basis of nearly every other Western healing potion, would be a good thing, right?

Thus resolved, Shinji trudged back to the location of the Niffler's Fancy, the metallic plant whose leaves and glistened gold even in the gloom. As he did so, he had the vague sense that _something_ was watching him, even if he couldn't pinpoint exactly what that something might be.

' _Is anything going on inside the shelter? Is it getting ready to spawn more bears, perhaps?'_

If it was, Shinji idly considered using a corrosive _ofuda_ on it to destroy the shelter's ability to inconvenience him further, or simply destroying the physical structure and everyone within it with spears of ice, but…

' _No, Master.'_

…if there wasn't anything, then that would just be unnecessary effort, and worse, effort that might give away who he was.

' _Even if they're aware someone is here, they might not be aware who I am. If I use ofuda, then they'll know it was me – well, or Sajyou-san, but I can't count on them thinking it was her.'_

Several parties had already recognized his demonstration of fusion during the talent show for what it was, and if he knew an advanced art, it wouldn't exactly be a stretch of the imagination to assume he was capable of some of the lesser arts as well.

Especially for a Russian.

' _Let's just go for it then. I'll take a few leaves from the Niffler's Fancy – less obvious than just uprooting the entire tree – and see if I can gather some Wiggentree bark if that doesn't raise any alarms.'_

Niffler's Fancy _was_ by fartherarer of the two, after all, even if he had little idea of what it might be good for.

Budge might know better but consulting the spirit of the book could wait till he was back in a more…secure location.

' _Or at least, when I'm not standing in the middle of a downpour.'_

So, he moved to carry out his plan, finding himself pleasantly surprised when plucking leaves from the golden plant did not, in fact, cause bears to come at him, alarms to blare, or give him some other reason to panic.

' _Huh. Maybe they don't know what Niffler's Fancy is good for either…'_

Then…was it the Wiggentrees that were trapped?

It seemed likely. The question was…how?

' _Heh. Only one way to find out.'_

He placed the leaves into his mokeskin pouch, and then with Zelkova guiding him, made his way towards the Wiggentree located furthest away from the shelter, borrowing his familiar's senses to see if there were any—

 _'Aha. Bowtruckles.'_

Yes. There were two of the hand-sized, insect-eating tree dweller on the trunk, looking almost like a piece of bark - a sign that the tree they were perched on was of particularly high quality (and its ingredients of great magical potency).

If he approached, they would attack – either tossing bark at him, which he wouldn't mind, or jumping at his face and trying to claw out his eyes, an outcome he would rather avoid.

Either way, he'd have to deal with them, and if he were preoccupied doing so, no doubt the shelter might take the chance to spawn more bears or something else unpleasant.

He briefly considered using his _ofuda_ to bind them, though he soon decided against it. He didn't want to leave behind any trace of what he could do, after all, and if he were surprised in the middle of gathering, and had to flow-walk away, it wasn't as if he could retrieve his _ofuda_ before he retreated.

' _Nothing for it then. I'll just have to use my wand. At least I remember learning about how to deal with these in class...'_ Shinji thought to himself. It had been in one of his Defense Classes, he thought – or maybe in Potions from last year – but regardless, he remembered that all he had to do was cast the Confundus Charm so they wouldn't notice his approach. _'Right. They're easy enough to deal with if you see them. The trouble with bowtruckles is that they are hard to see, not that they're particularly resistant to magic.'_

It wasn't as if they were trolls or something, though now that he thought about it, a troll made of wood would be pretty terrifying. Almost as bad as one of those Ent creatures from the _Lord of the Rings_ books that Luna seemed to enjoy so much, except maybe vulnerable to fire?

Shaking his head, the boy drew his wand, and with a quick muttering of _Confundo_ , put the bowtruckles into a daze.

 _'Good. Let's gather the bark and get out of here,'_ he thought to himself, only to be yanked backwards by an invisible force as Zelkova pulled him out of the way of an immense branch that was swung at him by...

 _'What? How...'_

…the Wiggentree itself, a fierce, unrestrained blow which would have shattered his bones, had it hit.

The Russian. This had to be the work of the Russian, perhaps with the tree bewitched to "come to life" if Western magic was used anywhere close to it.

 _'Master. The other Wiggentrees in the clearing. They're beginning to move. They're uprooting themselves and coming this way!'_

Great. Just what he needed, especially while he was trying to avoid the sweeping blows of the arm-like branches of the…the _Huorn_ before him, or evade its grasping, twig-like claws.

' _Something this big has no business moving this fast.'_

Faster than a troll. Faster than a werewolf. Faster than anything he could think of save his fusion form – and he didn't exactly have access to that.

And if that were not enough...

 _'Master, something is happening with the shelter. An opening is forming.'_

If there was one thing that could be said about Matou Shinji, it was that he recognized that sometimes, discretion was the better part of valor. Oh, he could fight, and perhaps, if he put everything on the line, he might even win – unlikely as it seemed – but in a situation like this, with animated trees all around him, his competitors likely about to emerge from their shelter, and his combat abilities limited due to an inability to use fusion…

' _We're getting out of here.'_

And so, as the boy moved, he let himself fall away from the current moment, his consciousness falling away from his current body, to one of the other pieces of his magic – one of the ofuda he'd empowered, as his physical form disappeared from the clearing right before a branch tore through the space he'd just occupied.

* * *

It was, Shinji thought as he materialized in the Shrine, a distinct relief to be under shelter again, a sentiment that Zelkova didn't quite share, but could appreciate, seeing his Master so worn.

"You're back," Ramona's voice called out, the sound seeming to come from all around him. "Did you find something?"

He looked around, but did not see his teammate anywhere nearby.

"Huh?" he asked intelligently.

"I am in the central chamber, brewing," her voice called out. "Come join me."

 _'So she can detect my presence?'_ he wondered, musing that perhaps she could use the spirits of the air as an extension of her own senses, in much the same manner that, while in fusion, he could extend his awareness into the earth.

He'd have to ask.

On entering the central chamber, he noticed two things. First, that it was now immaculate, cleansed of any trace of corruption from earlier, and second, that his teammate was bent over a cauldron bubbling over ghostly purple flames, filled with sweet smelling liquid with a curious silver sheen.

"Moonseed, Chicory, and Valerian, as a base," she explained, anticipating his unasked question.

"Isn't moonseed poisonous?" Shinji asked, recalling some of his studies.

"Not when combined with certain other ingredients," Ramona answered, looking up from her potion at the boy. "The properties of individual ingredients don't always translate directly to their effect on the whole."

"Point."

"Speaking of which, did you find anything?"

In response, Shinji withdrew the precious leaves of gold he'd collected from the clearing.

"I did. A rare plant, called Niffler's Fancy," the boy noted, shaking his head. "But that's not really important right now." At Ramona's look, he corrected himself. "Rather, it i _s_ important, but not as important as how Ka'aukai is doing."

After all, Shinji thought to himself, he hadn't seen the Polynesian Champion on his way in.

"I am well," a voice spoke from behind the Japanese boy, causing him to nearly leap out of his skin as he whirled to see Ka'aukai standing there, looking much healthier than he had been when Shinji had seen him last. "I appreciate your concern, Matou."

"Ramona managed to heal you?" Shinji asked, glancing over at the Champion of Qausuittu questioningly.

"Not so much healed as sped up his healing, which has always been superior to most," the Inupiat girl demurred. "Mostly, what was troubling him was post-transformation exhaustion."

"Ah. From turning into a _tanifa_."

"Yes. It was a dangerous state to be in, but as he was adequately supported, he recovered," Ramona noted. "He was about to go out after you, actually, though he decided against it, as he didn't know where you were."

"Probably a good thing," Shinji said after a moment, laying out what he'd learned.

That there was a prana-rich area about a kilometer away.

That Stukov and Agarwal were camped – and had quite thoroughly fortified – a clearing in which wiggentrees grew.

That the two had managed to animate trees, among other things.

And of course, that it might be useful to capitalize on some of this knowledge – to attack when his enemy least suspected it.

"No…I think not," Ramona noted. "They are already alerted to an intrusion, and unless we are willing to kill them, I don't think it would be wise to try stealth again."

"Fair enough," Shinji nodded, somewhat relieved that he wouldn't have to go back there.

"For now, you rest. Ka'au, can you look over the prana rich area?"

"Can do, Ramona."

"As for me – I think its time for some potions experimentation."

* * *

Meanwhile, back at Durmstrang, things proceeded in the absence of the Potions Champions, with George, Fleur, and Viktor Krum all anxious for the final showdown to determine, once and for all, who will be the Tri-Wizard Champion. Certainly, things were certainly quieter, yet there is a tension in the air that will not so easily fade, as the Champions knew that soon, they would clash, and only one could emerge victorious and attain _eternal glory_.


	79. The Belly of the Beast

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 78.** _The Belly of the Beast_

Matou Shinji _dreamed_ , and in the dream, he found himself wandering through a world of featureless grey-white, his feet carrying him ever onwards.

 _'No. Not featureless.'_

In some areas there was more grey than white, and in some more white than grey, and at the edge of his perception, there were flickers of darkness, though when he turned to look directly at them, they vanished.

Gradually, he came to understand that there was sound here. Something like a faint whisper or a buzzing or a song. No. That wasn't it. There were whispers from one direction. Buzzing from another. An eerily familiar melody from a third, blending with the others in an odd polyrhythm.

Strands of meaning in the chaos. Fragments of purpose and consciousness in the background noise of meaninglessness.

Shards of dreaming. Ambition. Desire. Swirling together in points of light.

A shadow, a writhing spot of dark within the grey.

His feet bid him to keep on moving. To walk. To choose a direction.

And so he chose.

' _I think…the song.'_

He wasn't sure, but to him as he was now, the song seemed to be the most innocuous thing to follow. Or at least, it seemed like there was a purpose to following it, a meaning of some sort, instead of just the random patterns of background noise. And the more he walked, the more he listened, the more he seemed to hear.

The song had several...sources, as it were, several voices joining as one, even if they weren't exactly on top of each other.

' _Some distance apart, enough for their concord to bring discord to the patterns of white and grey._ '

Yes. That was it.

Patterns.

He hadn't noticed them before, thinking that the backdrop upon which light and darkness played was simply an ever-shifting chaos, effectively featureless, but it...wasn't featureless, was it? There was some subtle order to how things change, though he couldn't make out what it was.

' _What is it.'_

There was something there – something he was missing.

 _'Am I looking at it from the wrong angle? Is there something I'm not seeing?'_

Wait. Was that…a shape?

It was. A shape, irregular as it might be, with smaller shapes super-imposed on its edges. Patterns on patterns, dispersed in a not-quite fractal. Nodes of silent grey, ripples of radiant singing white.

Then something unexpected happened.

In the monochrome world, a single point of color appeared, then another, and from them, something _bloomed_.

A flower of sorts, or...maybe…a tree?

Wrought of something like azure...glass? No, not glass. Something more delicate, like liquid light, instead of pouring down from something, it was pouring _up, rising from the ground_ , as a mist seeped in from all around him, obscuring his vision, blanking out the patterns, and filling the air with a soft cerulean glow.

And more than that…

' _It's quiet now…the buzzing, the whispering, they're gone.'_

Gone along with every other sound in the world, save the song.

 _A song..._

 _Of the quiet sigh of air as it whispers over a sharpened blade._

 _Of the hums and vibrations of the hollow earth._

 _Of the rush of blood and the whine of nerves._

 _Of timeless quartz._

It sang.

It sang to those who might hear it, those long gone, and those who never gone.

A siren song that spoke to the hearts of those who sought purpose. A song of welcome for those who sought something greater than themselves, or less than themselves, or did not know what they sought.

It sang...and he understood.

What he heard was merely one voice of a greater choir, a few notes of a greater symphony, propagating in a layer of reality not entirely his own.

It sang...and he felt the stirrings of what had come before.

His mouth opened as a word – a _name_ came unbidden to his mind.

He spoke it, no, _sang_ it, and—

* * *

—Matou Shinji awoke.

And as the boy opened his eyes, he reflected that he felt curiously energized, despite how short his rest had been, and how he'd spent all of it wandering through a dream.

A dream that was even now growing faint, as his mind shifted its energies towards the world of the waking, letting him see the stone walls around him, feel the breeze, hear the soft sound of Ramona's humming, along with the cauldron bubbling merrily away.

' _Bubbling. Bubbling…up?'_

Bubbling up. Up from beneath.

Something was beneath the center of the island.

' _The song!'_

It was fading as the last bits of his mind shook off the vestiges of sleep, but it was there – had been there, singing to him.

Or perhaps simply singing.

 _'Zelkova...did you see that white space...?'_ The boy hazarded, hoping that his familiar would be able to respond.

 _'The white space, Master? Did you have an interesting dream again?'_ the voice of the _kodama_ questioned. _'I had wondered, as you were not in distress, as you often are when you wake from dreaming.'_

 _'There was something about a song,'_ Shinji noted silently. _'Patterns of light and shadow. And a shape like...like...'_

The boy trailed off, as he couldn't quite note down the details. The color...the color was important, somehow, not the shape, but...?

 _'Azure. And...Quartz?'_

 _'I wonder if in dreaming, you were linked with the ley line on which the shrine sits? If the patterns of light and shadow were in fact how prana flowed through the island. Through the ground, through living things, through the air.'_

Shinji blinked.

 _'Why would I...?'_

 _'You were asleep in the main room of the shrine, and with your affinity for the earth element, it is possible you joined – however briefly – with the dreams of the stone itself,'_ Zelkova explained. _'Much as I may commune with the forest. This would also explain your rapid healing.'_

'It…could be,' the boy admitted. ' _And do you have any idea about a song...? Something from underground?'_

 _'The trees mention that something ancient and powerful was secreted within the central ruins long ago,'_ the _kodama_ said after a moment. _'That inside a vast and ancient labyrinth, deep beneath the earth, though they know not what. It...sings to them.'_

 _'Sings?'_

' _Yes, Master. They are unsure of hold long it has been, or what the item in question was, however.'_

' _I see.'_

The song…could be related in some way to the azure lightning?

' _Azure...that is…?'_ But he could remember why the color was important. _'How are things?'_

 _'The rain has slowed to a drizzle, Master. In another hour or two, perhaps it will stop.'_

 _'And what of you, Zelkova? Have you recovered?'_ the boy asked with some concern. _'I know you were rather worn earlier, and that you did not have a chance to rest...'_

 _'I tapped into the ley line, Master. I am fully functional once more.'_

A weight that Shinji had not known he had been carrying slid off his chest with the confirmation that his familiar was fine. He'd been quite worried after first the encounter with the nuckelavee and then the skirmish in the clearing, since Zelkova had taken the brunt of the damage in the first encounter, and then had exerted himself to save Shinji's sorry arse in the next.

' _Good. I'm glad.'_

With that, the boy slowly got to his feet and brushed himself off, as a pleasant smell wafted to his nostrils, like the scent of sunshine mingled with a fresh mountain breeze.

 _'Hm?'_ he murmured, glancing towards the center of the room, where he saw that a golden mist was hanging above the potion that Ramona was brewing. Or _was_ she actively brewing? The brunette was seated, with her eyes closed, with her hands held before her as if cupping a ball of some sort, and her fingers twitching now and then. As for the potion itself...

 _'Huh. It's golden now? Wasn't it silver before?'_

But what—

"You added the Niffler's Fancy?" Shinji asked, as he padded over to his teammate. "I don't remember explaining what that did." Combining ingredients when one had no idea of their properties, or what they would do in combination was utter folly – or at least something that only experienced potioneers usually did, and then, with precautions. _'Which reminds me again of how I wasn't careful enough when I was doing my work.'_ As such, the only explanation he could think of for why she would do this was that— "…you've used it before?"

But Ramona did not respond to his query, with the only sounds he could hear from her being her breathing, a deep inhale, followed by a exhalation that was more of a hum than a sigh.

Nor did she open her eyes.

 _'Is she asleep?'_ he wondered, shaking his head. That seemed…like it would be unwise for a brewer to do, but when he tried moving her, it was as if her body was heavy – and rigid – as stone.

' _What?'_

Wordlessly, he called upon Zelkova to allow him to see what was going on the level of spirits and prana, and was startled to find that there was a current of prana flowing into her from the floor beneath her – no, from the shrine around her – with tendrils of prana, almost like tongues of light, extended towards the bubbling cauldron.

'… _uh, I guess she does knows what she's doing,'_ the boy thought to himself, frowning. He supposed it was probably an extension of her spirit abilities. _'Though I wonder…how vulnerable is she when she's like this?'_

Was she as helpless as she looked? Or was her seeming helplessness an illusion, meant to lure others in to be crushed?

' _I don't know.'_

And it was that lack of knowledge which troubled him most.

The boy turned away, intending to see what things were like outside, and had just made his way to the doorway of the main room when—

"I have not used this particular ingredient, but I can decipher an ingredient's potential, given time," the reply finally came, the young woman's voice drifting to his ears from behind him.

"Ah," Shinji noted, turning to note that Ramona was still facing the cauldron – and thus not looking at him, and that her posture was unchanged. "So you can do even that..."

"Yes, although it is somewhat time-intensive," Ramona remarked, with the boy raising an eyebrow at her words. "Oh, don't look so surprised. None of us would be Champions without something to set us apart from our peers," she said gently, rebuking him for his presumption.

"I…see," Shinji replied, a bit unnerved that she either could see him without looking at him, or had simply predicted how he would react.

' _I guess she's not really that vulnerable after all.'_

Then again, given that the Champion of Qausuittuq was seated at the heart of an ancient shrine, in which she'd set up a number of defenses, he supposed that she was only as vulnerable as a magus would be in one's workshop – which was to say, only as vulnerable as they allowed themselves to be. Ka'au on the other hand—

"Ka'au left to scout the prana-rich area you mentioned about half an hour ago," Ramona supplied, pre-empting his query. "You will likely find him there still."

"...I was about to ask that. Thanks."

"Of course," she answered. There was a meaningful pause of a few heartbeats, which Shinji couldn't quite decipher, before she spoke again. "Matou, did you see something when you linked to the ley line?"

"...you noted that, did you?" the boy asked, an odd expression on his face.

"Mm."

"…you're dangerous, you know," Shinji quipped.

Far more dangerous than he had initially thought, or would have believed. But perhaps that was how it was with young women from North America, given that Elesa Labelle seemed much the same way…

"Yes, I know," Ramona acknowledged after a moment or two, her voice tinged with amusement. "Go. See what ingredients you can find, and I in turn, will see if what you retrieve will enhance the quality of the potion."

"And will you share what the ingredients might do for we lesser wizards?" Shinji joked. "Even if they won't do anything for the potion?"

"I suppose I might consider it."

* * *

Despite the weather being much improved, reaching the area that the trees had spoken of as being rich in prana, was an utter slog. In the wake of the storm, the ground was a soggy mess, and though there was no fog, the forest was thick here, forming something close to a wall, so he couldn't move quickly, as was his wont.

Still, he made his way forward, wishing – not for the first time – that he could fly, since that would no doubt make travel easier, until after close to half an hour of travel he arrived at what could only be described as a gaping hole in the ground, like the maw of some great subterranean creature.

'… _uh, Zelkova, that isn't something's mouth, is it?'_ the boy wondered, fervently hoping his suspicions were incorrect.

' _Not that I can discern, Master,'_ the _kodama_ replied, which reassured him slightly.

' _Did Ka'au come this way?'_

' _Yes. He entered the cave some time ago, though his footsteps are faint,'_ Zelkova noted in his mind. _'Unfortunately, the prana rich waters of the storm washed out most traces of his passing, so I cannot be more specific.'_

That was…inconvenient, and to be perfectly honest, Shinji wasn't entirely comfortable about going into what might well be a flooded area with uncertain footing and (presumably) bottomless pits and other hazards that would spell the doom of any unwary adventurer, but he supposed that if Ka'au had already gone in, he should probably go after his teammate.

 _'Not that I know what he was thinking to go into a hole in the ground during a downpour,'_ the boy groused. _'Is there anything else you can tell me?'_

' _Only that from the entrance, there is a twenty meter drop – nearly sheer,'_ the _kodama_ replied, _'at the bottom of which is a passage that leads to a quite...extensive series of caverns, and that the ground inside is indeed quite wet.'_

A twenty-meter drop.

That was…inconvenient, though he supposed that with withcraft and other arts, there were ways to make that more survivable.

' _Any light?'_ he wondered. Maybe some kind of glowing moss, or eerie crystals that shone with magic, rune structure or—

' _No, Master. None whatsoever, at least in the first area.'_

Shinji sighed, feeling quite annoyed by this bit of information.

Then again, Zelkova hadn't said anything about possible enemies, and the boy supposed that Ka'au must have had some plan for surviving down there.

' _It's not as he's helpless around water, after all.'_

That, and anyone who could transform into a whale large enough to snap him in half with a single bite, or take on the form of some kind of magical beast Shinji never seen before and hold off a horde of trolls probably would have no trouble surviving something like this.

 _'Still, he could probably use some backup.'_

The question is - how would he reach Ka'au?

Going in without taking some precautions seemed...unwise, given that his form of flesh and blood was hardly immune to injury. Going in fused might probably a better option, as his awareness and control over earth and water was far stronger in that form, meaning that he'd be able to navigate about without the aid of a light source.

Not that there weren't downsides to fusion. Maintaining it for hours on end might be problematic, and the confidence it brought might not be entirely warranted, given that the nuckelavee had shown that there were things on the island, natural or not, that could hurt – or kill – someone using fusion without much more trouble than if he were his normal self.

 _'And if going deep into the bowels of the earth doesn't seem like asking to encounter one of those creatures, I don't know what is.'_

Perhaps, rather than rely on power, he should try stealth then? He still had some doses of the odd potion he'd created that turned him into something like a wraith, even after handing over a dose to Budge for the spirit to study, and testing some samples to make sure it was stable over periods of time exceeding the mere ten minutes he'd obtained from a drop.

 _No time like the present,_ ' he thought, a rueful smile flitting across his lips as the boy reached into his pouch and retrieved what he styled the Potion of Fading, studying the silvery liquid in the vial for a moment, before uncorking it and taking a deep swallow.

Instantly, the world he knew fell away, and an insubstantial world of featureless grey-white appeared, with flickers here and there reacting to the vial – glowing with an eerie silver light – he held in his hand.

 _'What. This isn't like Hogwarts. Its…'_

It was like the dream.

Yes, if he looked closely, his surroundings were not featureless, with patterns of white and grey, gauzy and insubstantial, all around him, though some things had more solidity to them, thanks to the prana they were imbued with.

' _I see…'_

Prana in the ground, in the rain, in the trees provided something of an outline, enough for him to get around without light.

' _Well, let's go then.'_

With a deep breath, the boy floated into the mouth of the cave, and began his descent, letting gravity pull his astral form drift down, down, down until he made contact with the cavern floor, meeting with resistance from the prana-laden stone.

 _A ripple._

He felt the patterns shift as he touched down, felt _something_ take note of him, felt a faint whisper in his mind.

No, not a whisper. _Whispers_.

There were...

 _'There are other spirits here...'_

He could see them, moving about. Things which looked like people, things which vaguely seemed like animals, even a few things that looked like ghostly suits of armor, clanking about here and there, filled with the remains of something long decayed and insubstantial.

They drifted about apathetically, as if inured to pain, to need, to every mortal desire – so long as he kept his distance. As he approached, however, since they were between him and the way down into the depths, they seemed to take notice of a new presence, and so turned towards him, their eyes following his every movement, though at the least, they didn't attack.

' _Well, thank goodness for small mercies.'_

With that he continued on, deeper into the gloom, taking note of any oddities he witnessed. There were the usual hazards – vertical shafts descending far below, a rough, uneven ceiling, with jagged pillars of rock jutting out for unwary passerbys to strike themselves, a few deceptively long dead ends that terminated against unblemished stone, and at one point along the corridor, at the level of one's waist…

' _Wait. That's not natural.'_

A runic array, or at least something like one, was carved into the wall on his right-hand side, still glowing faintly with stored prana, with a number of bones scattered across the ground near it, and embedded in the mire, something that glinted with an audible keening.

 _'Metal?'_

No. It wasn't metal, he realized, as his awareness of substances born of the earth didn't recognize it as such. Just something that resembled metal in how dense it was with prana, how it shone, if darkly to his spirit form's senses.

And on the opposite side of the corridor, there was a jagged tear in the stone, a crack just big enough for a child to slip through.

' _Zelkova, could you take a look down this passage?'_ he asked, glancing uneasily between the array and the crack in the wall opposite it. _'I want to see if its another dead end, or if there's something there.'_

' _Of course, Master,'_ the _kodama_ acknowledged, moving off to do so.

If there wasn't, he would continue down the series of half-flooded rooms and corridors hewn from the rock by presumably water and wind, with each room slope and incline quite uneven, if flooded and full of spirits all the same.

With his familiar assessing the viability of the other passage, the boy floated towards the string of bones, following it from the crack to where they were densest – near the inscriptions on the wall. He was almost certain that they were _human_ bones, given the shape of the long bones, and the half-skull he found.

 _'Whoever this was, Master, he died in great pain,'_ Zelkova observed quietly, with Shinji turning to see that his familiar had already returned from his scouting, after maybe a minute or two at most.

 _'Oh? And what makes you so sure of that?'_ Shinji wondered. _'And that was rather quick. Did you see what was on the other side of that fissure?'_

' _There is another cavern on the other side, but completely dry.'_

' _Huh. Completely dry? No water at all?'_

' _No, Master.'_

' _Huh.'_

That was…peculiar, and worth a bit of thought. Was there some kind of bounded field there to keep the place dry, perhaps, something protecting it?

' _Not that I could sense, though I did not emerge into the other room, Master. I simply know that there is a branch of the cave system as extensive as the one we are exploring now, that can be found in that one.'_

' _Huh. Fascinating,'_ Shinji mused, though as he looked down, his gaze settling on a half-buried skull, his thoughts came back to the present. _'And what makes you think that the person here – or people – died horribly.'_

 _'The fact that these bones are charred. Someone burned to death here.'_

Shinji's sight snapped up to the writing on the wall and as he _stared_ , he began to make out a few of the shapes – letters that looked something like _Ansuz_ es and _Sowilo_ s, carved in varying combinations with a number of different symbols he didn't quite recognize.

Some of the symbols shone with stored prana. Some were dull, almost impossible to discern from the surrounding rock, as there was no prana within them other than the general background.

It made him wonder if the person – the people? – who had died had been inscribing the runes, or perhaps trying to erase them. Or else, had someone set off a trap written by another, and died screaming?

 _'Maybe…the metal-like object...?'_

It was mostly buried, but that wasn't an issue, since he could-

 _'Huh?'_

Not only did his earth-based abilities failed to work on it directly, his attempts to shape the earth near it failed, as if….

 _'Is it...is it drinking the ambient prana, and thus keeping my abilities from working? '_

Cautiously, Shinji tested the area around it, sending bits of prana into the ground in an attempt to find just how far the item's area of effect extended.

' _Hm. A meter, huh?'_

As for the object itself….

 _'A knife? Well, the blade. Part of the blade.'_

As he looked closely, _that_ was what the item resembled: a fragment of a jet-black blade, with shadows and lines and light being drawn into it. He'd initially thought that it seemed shiny, and it was, though at least part of that was the afterimage of prana being drawn into it…

' _That's…not natural.'_

Not that a blade was at all a natural thing, but this was odder than usual. After all, most things in the world had prana to some degree, and so would seem some shade of grey, if it didn't appear white or off white. What was this then, that it was pitch black? Was this so dense with stored energy that it simply drew in everything else around it? Was it the crystallization of some concept of hunger or emptiness?

Was it something else?

He almost wanted to reach out and touch it, to take it with him so he could study it further, but something gave him pause.

' _Is the item the trap, I wonder? Is it part of a bigger system?'_

Perhaps as the trigger mechanism, activated by the surge of prana that would come from Not that he saw some larger mechanism, but one could never be too careful these days. Not when...

 _'A vial...?'_

About an arm's length from the item was a glass vial full of shifting shadows, an artifact which seemed to whisper to him to pick it up, or such was how his mind interpreted the demand, though the words themselves were unintelligible.

 _'This is...'_

He wanted to, felt the urge to pick it up, to open the vial and _see what was within, to—_

 _No._

Matou Shinji found himself shaking like a leaf in the wind as he reeled, horrified at what he'd almost done. He'd thought he was beyond such a thing, yet the whispers had nearly seized control of his mind before he'd purged the public partition.

' _If I hadn't had that…'_

If he hadn't learned that basic art, he probably would have opened the vial, and then whatever was inside it would have been free, for better or for worse.

In some ways, it felt…familiar, as if he should recognize it, even as part of him recoiled from the way the whispers slithered about him, and the darkness seemed thicker.

 _'I…I should move on.'_

He was keenly aware of it now. Of how every moment that Matou Shinji spent near this array, near the items on the ground, was another opportunity for disaster to strike, another opportunity for him to be tempted into doing something foolish.

' _And now that I think about it, that isn't the only thing whispering, is it…?'_

No indeed. There was something about this cavern that seemed unnatural, which he'd noticed when he'd stepped inside it, but had forgotten about until now, as the whispers coming from deep in the bowels of the earth continued to tug at him, urging him to go deeper, deeper, deeper still.

The boy swallowed.

' _Ka'aukai might be down there.'_

And without the ability to shift into spirit form, who knew what trouble the Polynesian champion might be getting into? What traps he might have tripped or stumbled upon without the ability to avoid getting caught in such things?

' _Though it could be that I'm the one who is vulnerable to this sort of thing, since I am like most other spirits right now. With his specialization being mostly in physical forms, he might be better prepared to deal with such things.'_

Especially if Ka'au had faced the dangers of the ocean and the Abyss.

It occurred to the boy that he really should stop underestimating his teammates, as they were, after all, fellow Champions, and beyond that, more experienced than he was, at brewing, being subtle, and well, _living_. He was so very used to being a big fish in a very small pond, with his abilities making others see him as a hero – or at least a villain – but here, among true peers at last, he found at last that even in the fullness of his strength, he wasn't such a big fish after all.

He knew that. He knew that all too well after the events of this year, which was why he _had_ to prove that he belonged among his peers as a Champion – _without_ simply borrowing the talents of Zygmunt Budge. After all, that might be a shortcut to victory, but then what?

 _'I brought back Nifflers Fancy, but that's not enough. There's something else here – there_ has _to be something here, something I can use to become stronger. Maybe the one of the items? The blade fragment, anyway? Though I guess first I should try and see what the runes mean.'_

Then, at least, he'd have a chance to see if they were safe to retrieve.

Sadly, the more he looked, the more he realized that whoever had inscribed this was far above his level when it came to runecraft, with arrays within arrays, runes linked with unfamiliar symbols in a manner he didn't recognize.

 _'They overlap. Wait. No that's not it. There are runes carved under the surface of the wall, which don't match those on the surface. But how...?'_

...the knife? Could it be that the ebon shard was something that could phase in and out of physical reality?

Cautiously, the boy sent some of his yin prana through the earth into the metal, with his eyes widening as it sank deeper into the stone, nearly vanishing before he cut off the flow.

 _'Something like this...'_

It could be incredibly useful, phasing through someone's armor or other defenses, only to rematerialize inside once the prana supply ran out. Or draining someone of their prana entirely. It was only a fragment of the blade though, so there was no good way to hold it. He wondered, what had happened to the rest?

As for the potion, the runes held no clue as to what its function was, not that he'd expected it to.

 _'If there is one thing that Aozaki-sensei told me, it is that I should be careful around magical items with unknown effects. Or which affect the mind,'_ Well, he somewhat knew the function of the Ebon shard, but even with that... _'I also just remembered, if I wanted to take them with me, I would have to become physical, or bring the shard to me magically, and I'm not sure that would work well.'_

Not when it very visibly consumed prana, and prana was what sustained his form as a spirit.

There was a time in his life when he wouldn't have worried so much, but after his experiences at _Mahoutokoro_ and Durmstrang, he'd learned to have a wary respect for these kinds of things.

 _'I guess when I come back, I'll think about picking up the knife, but for now...onward. Zelkova, if you would be so kind as to mark the location so I don't forget?'_

 _'Of course, Master,_ ' came the mental voice of the _kodama. 'Which way forward?'_

 _'The crevice,'_ Shinji noted, resolving to leave the whispers far behind as he floated through the very thin passageway, which meandered for quite some time, before opening up into a bone-dry room, just as Zelkova had said.

Emerging into it was almost a relief, as there was no hint of moisture in the air that his senses could detect, no movement of the air.

Even better, everything was silent – the whispering was _gone._

 _'Weird.'_

Strange indeed, but the boy didn't think it was necessarily a bad thing.

At least, not before Zelkova informed him that he'd lost contact with the rest of the cave.

 _'You what?!'_

 _'I am sorry, Master. I cannot perceive the caverns we came from anymore. It is if this area is isolated by more than just distance and earth. Perhaps a barrier, though I did not feel one as we passed through the crevice.'_

The crevice.

The very twisted crevi—

The boy froze, his blood running cold, as he turned back towards the wall through which he'd emerged, only to find it featureless – and whole, with no sign of the passage from which he'd emerged.

' _No.'_

Frowning, he tried to use his prana to convince the crack to reopen, but nothing happened. The wall remained stubbornly whole - and just as stubbornly, told him that there was nothing behind it.

' _Well, nothing for it now,'_ he thought to himself, letting his consciousness free and aiming to flow-walk back to the shrine where Ramona was waiting.

…but nothing happened.

 _'Bozhe moi_!' he exclaimed, with curses in one language after another spilling from his lips as the boy realized the direness of his current situation. He'd gone through the passage, passing through the twists and turns of...of what had to have been something like a rune, only on a scale he'd never seen before. _'Shit. Fuck. Merlin's saggy ballsack. Am I trapped?'_

Or maybe there was a way out.

Maybe in this situation, the only way out was through.

 _'Zelkova, is there a way to go further down from here – to go deeper?'_

 _'Yes, Master.'_

In that case, down it would be, in to the belly of the beast.


	80. Smokeless Fire

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 79.** _Smokeless Fire_

Matou Shinji found himself very, very confused as he made his way deeper into the sealed off cavern, finding the silence of the place to be quite eerie, because it wasn't just sound that was deadened here. His prana could not travel very far through the dense material of this place, meaning that his ability to map the cave to any significant distance was effectively negated, and that he couldn't rely on the ability to manipulate the terrain at all.

 _'All I really have is my wand, my ofuda, and Zelkova's bounded fields.'_

Granted, ofuda, in the right quantities and compositions, could help a onmyouji to fight enemies that one ordinarily would have no chance against, and he did have a stock of anti-spirit, anti-physical, and elemental ofuda available, so it wasn't as if he was helpless. He just wouldn't have the raw power and resistance that fusion form offered him, or the instinctive awareness of the world around him.

 _'I guess it will have to do, though I wonder...what is imprisoned here?'_

While this sealed space could be a natural phenomenon, with large "runes" surrounding it sealing the area from the outside world, he somewhat doubted it. It was far more likely that someone - or something - had gone through a lot of trouble to set this whole thing up as some kind of prison.

 _'Maybe for something like a nuckelavee, but more dangerous...'_

A spiritual being of some sort, perhaps? The fragment of some dead god or Great Old One? Or was it not a prison, but a vault of some kind, with some kind of treasure or artifact laying deep within?

There was really only one way to find out, and that was by reaching the bottom.

Thinking that now might be a good time to try something he hadn't done before, Matou Shinji decided that perhaps it was time to make Zygmunt Budge earn his keep. After all, the spirit of the brilliant potioneer was admittedly beyond him when it came to crafting elixirs, and beyond that, the tome that housed the spirit was a powerful artifact in its own right.

 _'He's not entirely happy with me, since his goal is to guide a Champion to victory in this competition, and my purpose for coming here isn't necessarily to win. Still, with both of us trapped down here - admittedly due to my mistake - neither of us are going to achieve our goals, so he has every reason to work with me.'_

Though, knowing Budge, his help would probably come at a price.

 _'If it does, so be it.'_

And so the boy opened the book, with green smoke billowing out of its pages and forming the glowing silhouette of a man, which seemed to look around and then freeze.

"Where are we?" the wraith of Budge asked, his voice uncharacteristically grave. "This doesn't seem like the island. The last time you called me there was much more magic about than here."

"We're still on the island, but-"

"But what? And why is it so dark?"

"We are underground, in a cave that is isolated from the rest of the world," Shinji reported, holding nothing back. "I came here thinking there might be ingredients, but...I made a mistake."

"A mistake," Budge repeated.

"...the way in sealed itself behind me, and none of my usual methods of escape are working," the boy related. "I'm not sure but...this might be some kind of prison."

"P-prison?! Of all things, you are in prison? Why I should I help someone so foolish-!"

"Because this place is impenetrable not only to beings of flesh, but spirits as well," Zelkova added. "If you wish to achieve your goals, you will need to assist us in ours."

"..."

"...please," Shinji all but begged. "I promise I'll do my best in the full competition - or give you to someone who will."

"...fine. I suppose I can offer my aid," the shade of Zygmunt Budge grumbled. "I can give you potions, spell support, or something else."

"Potions, if you please," the boy from the East said at once. If Budge – one of the greatest potioneers to ever live – was truly offering him something for his use, then he would be a fool not to take the spirit up on his offer.

At his words, with the pages of the book flipping here and there until at last it lay flat, and a chest emerged from it.

"Samples of some of the finest potions I have ever created. Work that should have inspired generations, revolutionized the brewing process. And yet. Ignored."

The chest opened, revealing vial upon vial of carefully labeled liquids. Potions that rendered a person immune to fire. Potions that increased strength and speed. Potions that enhanced the senses. A potion which glowed with a pure white light, like a miniature sun. Potions of regeneration. Potions to cure disease. An...animagus potion? Veritaserum. A potion of "frozen time". And of course, Felix Felicis.

"I suppose under the circumstances, I will allow you to take up to three with you. Choose what you will."

Some of these concoctions Shinji was reasonably familiar with. The others…

' _I've never seen anything like them before.'_

"What are these?" he asked, pointing at the brilliantly glowing potion, along with the Animagus potion and the so-called Potion of Frozen Time.

"The Phial of Light, as I call it, absorbs sunlight during the day and releases it at night," Budge mentioned. "A way to produce light without using my wand – or having to start a fire. It also is quite useful in driving off vampires, as it can flare quite brightly."

"And the Animagus potion?"

"Exactly what it says. Drinking it will give you the ability to become an Animagus!" the wraith of the Potioneer thundered.

"Eh? But—"

" _If_ the potion is compatible with you, meaning it has been brewed with a mandrake leaf soaked in your mouth, and a bit of your hair," Budge amended. "If it is not, well, then it might turn you into a werewolf. Or were whatever your Animagus form would be. Or give you horrible mutations. One of them."

"…uh, I think I'll pass," Shinji said gingerly, cringing as he imagined the sorts of mutations that might occur. He had no intention to become some kind of _monster_ , after all. "And…what about this…?"

An ice-blue vial, frozen to the touch.

A so-called potion of "frozen time."

"Ah. This."

The words came out in a hush, with the spirit for once showing something close to reverence.

"…this is one of my greatest creations," the wraith murmured. "Crafted with sand exposed to an hour-reversal charm."

"An hour…reversal charm?" Shinji echoed. That…that sounded a lot like temporal manipulation.

"A spell that allows one to travel to the past."

"…such a thing exists?"

"Yes, though it isn't common knowledge, and it is very, very dangerous, more so than any other branch of magic," Budge whispered. "Well, except for Potions that is."

"And this one…freezes time?"

"Well, to be precise, it speeds up your internal time, depending on how much you drink and how much magic you have," the wraith explained, fairly glowing with satisfaction. "To everyone else, yes, the world as may well be frozen."

"Wow."

A thought occurred to the boy then.

"So why isn't this…"

"What I call my greatest creation?" Budge questioned, chuckling at the look on Shinji's face. "It is the natural thing to wonder, isn't it? There are two reasons: the first being that when you return to the normal flow of time, you will…it is possible the drinker will suffer something like splinching."

"…ah. And the second?"

"It requires sand exposed to that charm, and very few know how to cast it," the wraith admitted. "Even I only managed by salvaging what was within a shattered Time-Turner. _Felix Felicis,_ on the other hand – that one I managed to create without such…exotic ingredients."

The boy asked about a few other potions here and there, with Budge supplying information about them when Shinji had questions, and in the end, picked out the three he wanted.

A vial of _Felix Felicis_ , as luck, or perhaps, manipulation of fate was always useful.

A glass flask filled with a curious red liquid that Budge had called a potion of regeneration, which not only healed the body, but the spirit.

' _Though apparently, prolonged use can cause damage to one's prana production and channeling capabilities.'_

And, last, to the spirit's surprise, he had chosen the Phial of Light, or what he privately thought of as the Phial of Galadriel, since Luna had made him read through _Lord of the Rings_ a few times.

"Why that one?" Budge asked, as the spirit was quite curious as to why the boy had picked one that wasn't obviously useful for battle.

"First, I'm not sure I can trust my spiritual senses right now, so I want to be able to see," Shinji answered. "Aside from that – I'm not the only one suffering from the lack of prana. Zelkova can use the light too – he's a tree, after all."

Zelkova, after all, drew prana from the world, in addition to the faint trickle from him.

"Ah, yes, your tree spirit companion," Budge commented. "A useful sort. Dedicated and dutiful. Wouldn't have minded him around back on my island."

"Was there…anyone on the island? Besides you?" Shinji questioned, since the spirit had never talked much about his past. Just what he wanted, and how disappointed he often was.

"No. Except for once, when someone was shipwrecked," the wraith replied after a long moment. "Heh. More time to work on potions without the distractions of things like socializing. Romance. Or any of that drivel and hogwash. And I did. I became the greatest potioneer in the world."

How much Budge believed what he said, Shinji didn't know.

But what he _did_ know was how terrible loneliness could be, and how much it could twist a person.

' _Bitterness. Hate. Resentment.'_

What would Matou Shinji have become, if he had not found another goal, had not been given a chance to go to Hogwarts and seek his destiny? What would have become, if he had been stuck in Fuyuki for years? What crimes would he have committed?

'… _I might have become a monster.'_

"Are you certain these are the choices you wish to make?" Budge inquired, as Shinji drank two of the potions and clipped the last to his belt.

"Yes."

"So be it."

With that the potions chest receded back onto the book, with the pages flipping about randomly once more.

"Will there be anything else?" Budge asked. "Seeing as you have gotten yourself…into this predicament, I suppose I am obligated to offer any other help you may need?"

"No, that's fine," Shinji replied, firming his resolve. " I have to be able to do things myself sometimes, after all."

"So long as you can," Budge stated, with the silouhette dissolving back into mist and vanishing into the book, leaving the _onmyouji_ alone with his familiar.

"...at least we have a light," Shinji said quietly, noting just how drab his surroundings were now that he could see them.

A featureless, translucent crystal, underlined with something shadowy, with his prana not moving particularly well through either.

'Yes. Shall we proceed, master?' Zelkova inquired, seeking rather more cheerful now that there was a bit of conceptual sunlight about, around which Shinji had rigged up a reflector so that it didn't end up blinding him.

 _'I'm glad he likes the sun potion.'_

It was natural, he supposed, as photosynthesis was one of the ways that the _kodama_ generated the prana needed to sustain its existence, after all.

"Downward we go."

And down they went, with the luck potion and light letting them successfully avoid falling into a bottomless pit or two (which he bridged and crossed with the help of his living staff), accidentally move a bit of loose stone in an array such that it effectively allowed passage onwards, and avoid stepping on a series of jagged stones laced with a spiritual decay enchantment.

Fortunate, as his supernatural senses were all but useless down here, and the crystalline nature of the walls created quite a number of optical illusions in reaction to the light.

One of the pits hadn't been there in his vision, after all. It had only been an impulse to stop and test the ground that had kept him from falling to his death. The spikes and stones too had been concealed, and the subtle array created by the shadows of what seemed like only rubble.

 _'...this really is a prison, isn't it?'_

It could still be a vault, of course, but whatever it was, someone didn't want...people entering it, or going any deeper than the first chamber, if that.

He found himself nattering on in his mind, speaking with Zelkova in an attempt to fill the absolute silence, as he felt he'd go mad otherwise, as they passed through chamber after chamber, took turn after turn, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking. Or how deep he'd gone. Perhaps he should have grown tired, but the regeneration potion took care of that.

And then at last, he came to the final room.

Against one wall, there were tree roots, or what looked like roots, surrounding a nearly Circular patch of crystal, behind which the shadows boiled and writhed. In the center of the room, surrounded by three pillars inscribed with runes, was the first artificial thing he'd seen down here, other than the knife...or had it been a knife? Maybe instead it had been part of the shadowy substance of the prison, which said interesting things about this entire area.

It was something like a urn, gleaming in the light like a smokeless flame, with odd inscriptions written on its surface.

 _'Wait. There's a fourth pillar.'_

Had been a fourth pillar, but the pieces of that were shattered and strewn across the stone.

The boy thought for a few minutes about what to do, given everything in the room, but he didn't really have to think too hard. After all, the reason he'd come to the isle to begin with was because Sokaris had shown an interest in knowing more about this isle and the secrets it held. And now, with Shinji finding himself in a room with an artifact from the Age of Gods, the boy figured that at the very least he should take some rubbing of it, even if taking the artifact itself would probably be too difficult.

 _'It's probably trapped. Or at least, with the way it looks, it might be the power source for a portal...'_

The circular patch of crystal surrounding by roots certainly looked like some kind of portal, even if it wasn't active and he had no idea where it led. Which meant that it was probably his best bet to get out of here - though first, he'd see about the inscriptions on the urn.

 _'Well, let's give this our best shot, Zelkova. You feel up to fusing?'_

Feeling a quiet sense of confidence through their bond, Shinji let himself sink deep into his consciousness, opening the door that separated him from the world, as two minds, two souls, two beings, merged into a single new whole, with skin like stone and very Japanese clothes covering his form.

He made his way over to the urn, being careful to sidestep any of the fallen debris from the broken pillar, lest he trigger something unwanted.

And once he was close enough to touch the urn, the boy looked over it carefully, trying to see what the inscriptions said, though he noted that they too were shifting, and that they didn't seem entirely dangerous.

 _'Guess I really need a rubbing then,'_ the boy noted, taking a sheaf of paper from one of the pouches he wore on his belt, and something like a piece of lead from the other.

The moment he touched the vessel, however, no matter that there was a sheet of paper preventing him from touching it directly, it reacted to his prana, with the boy feeling like his body was no longer anchored in place as he - along with Zelkova, with whom he was fused - was drawn into the sealed space within.

* * *

He awoke to find himself standing on a clockwork platform, in an expanse of foggy whites and cloudy grays, as something like machinery rumbled and shuddered all around him.

 _'What the hell? Where am I?'_

It wasn't the room where he'd stood before. It was something else. This...

 _'...this is the true prison.'_

He could feel it. There was something in here. Something vast, and powerful, and utterly alien to his senses.

 **"This one is the voice of the cell. This one is the prayer and the program," he felt more than heard. "This one maintains the enfeebling aura."**

Enfeebling aura? Well, it was true that he felt weaker, but...

...no, that, wasn't the presence he was sensing. It was something else. Something else was here, something-

 _ **M̙͇̠̜̳̺̞̂̎͆̍͋̉ͨ̅̊́̕͜͡Uͪͧ̔̽̌ͨ͗̿̐̊̅ͦ̽ͨ͋́͟͏̷̢̪̭̼͎̰̩̺͇ ͙͉̣̹͖̭͇Dͧ̍̋͢҉̵̨̛̦̣̘̻͉̟̘̰͔͇̻͎̻-̨̛͑̑̑̅ͧͩ̊̀̾̒̽̈́̈ͮͤ̋͂̇̏҉̺̜̰̥̫̬̟̬͉̻̝͖͉͡D̴̅͌ͥͮ͋̊̂̂̅̓͂̒ ҉̧͕̩̼̞O̵̴͔̰̠͇̥̬͙̖̰̦̹̪̣̖̞͙̱̝̎̍ͪͤ̂̉̐ͤ͊ͨ͆ͦ̌ͤͪͧ̏̄̈ͅL̇̄ ̸̺̠̯̯͙̼̥̌̈́͆ͩ̒̓ͬ̓͑́̀Lͯ̑͆̂ͪ̓ͨͫ̓͆̏͟͏̳̲̫̞̬͇̮͚͙͕͕̟͜͡ͅ.ͪ ̵̵̶̝̘̘̹͓̦̟̖̟̣͈̤̙̲̙̖̜ͤͦ͗͊́ͪ̍͂̌̐ͦ͗̋ͩ́̇̌̀́͜ ̛̫̜̥̮̜̫̞̬̺̫͚̤̠͍͈̮̘͓̼̂ͨ̍͋̑̄͟͞͞M̢̛̞̫̙̝̌̽̉͗͊O͒ͪͬͭͮ̏ͤ̓ ̸̨̜̥͉̜͇͇̼̮ͦ͜͝͡N̈́ͮͯͯ͆̈ͩ̂ͯͦͫ͊ͭͣ̽̚҉̮̳̠̖͕̖̙͉̥͍̘̥̘̀̕͠͞K ̢̬͍̳̫͇͍͍̽ͨͥ̃͌ͣͥ̋͝E̿͊̓̄̇̿̚͏͟͏̤͙̠̙̀Y̶͈̥̘̤̖̍̍ͧ̓͐̋̃͋̏͢ ̠̟̝̖̟̻̤.̴̴̛̮͈̥̦̝̫͓̺͉̼ͫ̑͊͑ͫͤ̆ͦͬ̆̒͑̾ͭ́͢ͅ ̴͒͊ͣͧ͌̌ͫͮ͂̆̓ͣͭ҉̵̥̪̙̤̟̞̺͔̻͍̬̘̀Ć̜̰̬͉̠̙̖̠̬ͬ̑ͪͬ͋̓͐͜͢ͅ ̯̤̹̦̣͙͕H̷̢̛̯̻̥̦͉̩̳̥̩̩̟̖͚̠̭̥͉͂̒ͩ͋ͮͧ͋̌̋ͦ̎̈ͫ͐͆ͨ̑͡͠Ḯ̓ ̷̸̨̡̺̥̙͓̙̠̟̗͖̝̣̘ͦ͊̋̇̍̋͋̚̚͝L̴̴̰̯̭̳̬͈̣͑̔͒̊ͥͥ͊͆̆ͫ̾́̚͞ ̗͓̳Ḑ̷̮͔͕̮̺̣̞ͫ̎ͬ͂̂̈́͛̆̒̚͞͠ͅ ̵̶̨̫̩̻̺̇͒̑͆ͫ̔ͤ̀ͫͯ̕O̷̮̩̫͚̻̖̞͍͍͈̽͗̆̄͂͛̉͒̓ͨ͛͂̀ͨͬ͑̄̕F̔ ̢͎̮͙̗̠̬̝̯̺̞̮̱̝̗͙͇̄̃ͫ̈́ͮͤ͛̂ͯ̇͒̀̉̄̆ͬ͐ͅ ̻̝̗̟̬͍̳̬̒̎̑̊ͫ̒̇ͨ̏ͦͫ͑ͧͩ̄́́̚̕͡T̢̪̘̗̻͚̦̰͔̭͂̊̐ͥ̊̈͐̊͘͞͝ ͕̹̥̭̪̜̘̱̫̼H̶͔̝̩̺͈͕͇̱͇̬̳̣̩͇ͮ̾͒͆̊̕Ȩ̪̗̳̞͔̜̠̪̃̀ͭ͛̿̊ͮ́ ̘̳͔̻̣̝͚ ̡̥̝̻̟͓͖̣̣͖̭̪͍ͮ͆́͂ͣ͒͊͊ͬͬ̽͛́̚͘͜U̷̵͙̒̿͒́͊̌ͣ̔ͥ̆̏ͮ́̔ͨ͠ͅ ̮̖͈̲̗̼̞̪̘͙̖̺̟̲͉͓͙S̭͔̘̤̺̣̤̼̗͍͔̲̓̽̏̎̅ͥ̕͠͡Ủ̅̾̒ͤ̓҉̛͞ͅ ̻̬̯̹͔̖͙̱̗̮͉̮̲R̺͎̳̰̯͎̯͇͚̿ͤͧ͒̾͗̊ͯ̆ͩͦͮͩ̕͟͜͢P̷̛̌̋̽͗ͮ͊ͥ ͈̞̹͇̻Ȇ̔̉̔̎ͯ̉̋ͫ̂ͨ͋͏̷̛̜̫̝̘̮̗̞̞̹̗̯͢͡ͅR̔͊́̉ͯ̂̽ͩ̾̄̒ͧͪͬ ̡͘͟͠҉̳̪̻̩̗S̋ͣͩ̆͒ͯ͋҉̵͔̝͇̹͈̜͍͝.̵̡̇̐ͣͣ̃ͦͣ̾ͬ͌̂͛ͬ̅ͨͭ̐ͧ҉ ̜̞̘̬͉̹͓̗̙͇̹̼͝**_

That...that thing...it...through his vision, through his spiritual senses it shone, overwhelming.

 _'What is that. What is-'_

 **POWER.**

Smokeless fire, given form. Trembling earth, reshaped. Chanting waters, swirling 'bout. Shining winds, restrained.

Humanoid? Could one call something humanoid, if it was far more ancient than any man? Had worn the shape before any human walked the earth?

 _ **T̒́ͦ̓҉̟̫̤̘̦͙̥̙̲͠H̵̸͈̜ͫǏ̧̟̹̼̰ͥͨ̌̉̌̕Ñ̴̦̹ͥ̉͞G͆͂ͫ͒ͬ̓ ̴̮͚̬̼ͥ̍ ̷̡̹̟̮͌̒̅Ơ̺͇̘͓̘̋ͨ̓̿̿͒̐̕F̺̩̭ͪ̌ͦ̊̊ ̇̉ͮ͗̐҉͚D̺͙͚̻̞͑̔̎͆ͩͩ͊͠I̵̛͓̠͓̼̿̋̆͛̄͡R̛͇̣̥̦̺͓͓ͬͨ̇̀̏T̀ ̗̥͎͚̳̜͓̟̑̆̍̿͑͘**_

It was...it was...

 **Jinn**.

 _ **A͓̦̙̲̞̲̬͞n̝̹ḑ̲̪̖̰̈ ͖͙̯̲͋̃̏̓̚y͉̝̥͇̮̋ͤ̓̔̄ͥ͒͠ó̦̭̼̞͈ͯͬ̒̓͞u̡̪̝̫̞͖̜̠ ͈̤ͣͧͬa͉̲̓̿͊͗r̢͍͕̝̺̻̃̾ͅeͣ̇͑̾̚҉̫͎̪̮ ̶̻͖̮͛̋͐n̶̟̑ͨ̍o̤͍̖̰̘̳͇ͤ͊͐ͤ̓̚ṫͯ͘.̭̟̳̲̱̱̂ͤ͒̍͆̿͌͟ ͖ ̰͗̓̃̔̚N̗̹̻͈͚̥͈ͬͮͨ͌̉ͬ͛e̱͍͍̘̪͋̒̇i͕̪̅̽ͣͮ͋̚t̟̞͖͚̹̪̠͗ḣ ̘͈̰͕̮̮ͅe͑̒́̌̊͏̞̮̰̩̥̞̠ř̜͉͕ ̢̙̩̖͔ͯͯ͊̊ͦ̉͗j̛̰͓̖̱̄ͥ̌̑ͬ̀i͍͖̬̞͔ͣ̏ͨn̸̞n̲̬̏͑̒́ͅ,̈́̆̽̿̔ ̙̬͔̬̦͇͕ ̌͑̈̇̚҉͓̺̱̻̤̤d̰̔̿̈̆́ͣ̽ͅeͫm̬̗̯̦͇̻͋ōn̬̮͍̮̲̬̯̏͌̎͑̚,ͯ̍ ̙͙̙̣͔̙͇̄̀̋̎̚ ̺̫͠s̓̂͊͛ͩ̌͞h̵͔̣̦̬̹͙͕ͧͧͯ̀ͩ̐͐a̠̰̟̱̤̖ͦ̈̇ͨ̎͟i̽͌ͬ̇ͭ̆͏tͯ ̮̪͐̃͆ͩͣ̒a͕͉̟͎̪̼ͫn͐̈́̌̑́̄̚,̥͍̟̱͍͉͊͂̋͘ͅ ͒̏҉͓͈̭̺̲̯͎ṉ̺̗̙̼̠̣̈́ͩ͛ͬo̶̞̓͑̊ͥ̓͂r̘̖͔ ̯͉̬͕ͦ̌̒́ḡ̻͚͚̜͐̀̔͒o̘̜̻̩d̮͓͇̥͈ͮ͛̐̂̑.ͪ҉͖̹͚̳̳**_

 _The voice. The voice. The voice. The voice in his head._

Like nails on chalkboard. Like white-hot daggers being driven into his ears. Like a thousand feral wolves ripping at his flesh.

 _ **̓̍͒ͫY͖̺̳̭̘ͫ̐͛́̇͒́͞o̮͖̠̩̯͉͎ͥ̐̈́̎u̥̝̮̕ ̧̖̹̬̳̼̠͐͗̿̏sͥ̓ͯ̑t̵͈̖̄͂̔͗̉ͬ̉o͚̟̪̲ͭ̃ͣ̂́́l̫̩̦͈̫͑̽̂̾͌ͨ ̤e͛̔ͮͩͯ ̢̹̟̪̙̬̼͐̃̇̽g̤̭͡r̺̲̲̮̭ͥ̿͂e̪͎a̳͕̥ͨ͗͘ṭ͕͇̦n̠̭̝̮̊ͫ̓̅̐̑ e̹͇̻̪ͮ̽ͯ͗̔́̚ͅs͛̽̅͏̝s̱̱̘̬̲̮ͣ ͔̅ͯ͒̍͞f̞̟̫̤̖͒͒͊̂̆r̨̮̥̩͑̐ͧ̓̄͂o̺̹̯̥̜̊͠m̝̳̠̝̟̙͒ͪ̚ ̲ ̡͎͈ṯ̷͙̬̟h̤͇̪̺̩̍̏e͎̺̭ͭ͒͂̆ ͆̔̓ͮ̾ͤ̅҉c̖͚͓̜͖̫̆̑̀o̘̻̣̯̓͐̿͊ͤ̌ͥ͞ͅs̢͍̩̭̲͔̠̙ͥ̌ͩ̃͌ͫmͭͥ ̗̑̌͟ỏ͕̝͡ͅͅș̖̙̟͎̽͌̐,̧̮̤̔̍̃̚ ̱̲̻̬͎̀ͫa̴̬͉̜̫̯͔̙̒ͧ̓sͥ͋̓҉̺̹̗̪ ͚̤̥͕̅͜t͉̭͓̒̿̍͋hͫ͆̌ͥ҉͓͇ḙ͈̘͓̪̱ͣ͑ͭ̊̔ ̗͔̝̪͕́̋͐̂̚r̭͇̿̃̊͌̚a̷̮̱̦̖͉̱̟ͤ̄ͨ̅ͨv̷̮͓̯̙͔ͥͬ̋͋͑ͭ͆ȇ̘ͭ n̘̦s̷͖̤͕̝̓̄̽ͧ͐ͤͧ ̺̝̤ͦ̏̓͋s̳͍̝̮̱̺ͪ̆ͩ͐t̸̻̪̬̥̊̋̑̂ol̬͓̲ͪ̿́̈̅ͯ̑e̛͎ͬ̅ͦ̋̅̑̾ ̠ ̓҉̫̦̻̝̥t̶ͬ̉ͬ̐h̷̤͚͓̊̍̄̂e͓̅̑ͮ͒̽ͅ ̧̩͍s̜̠̻̣̹ͨ̉͒ͨ͛̽͒u̝͈̤̘̯̺̮̇̉̚̕n̆ͭs̗͔̗̻̋̽ ͚̳͈͊́ͮf̢̩̜̩͖̺̻̒͂̾̓͆̓r͇͐̆͌ͭ̐̏̍ȯ̳̭͇̗͚͚͙͠m̜̹̄̿̇͢ ͕͇̗̫͈̬̀̃͒̚t̰̦͎ͮ̀͌̉͑ͤ̀h̵̻̻̻͖͊̓͊é̳̃̂̌ ̹̪͔̠̇͂̓͛̾͛s̹̺̦͙̟̭̣ͤͧ̊́́k̵̘͖̤ỹ̶̾́ͭ**_

He wanted to scream. To cry. To fall to his knees when faced with the utter hatred of this being.

 _Wish for my release, thing of dirt. Wish it, and I grant you everything you seek_.

Its thoughts…its wants…were invading him.

' _No. No.'_

 _Wish it. Wish it, mud doll._

 **"This one detects foreign bodies in the cell. Initiating the Expulsion Process."**

Cool and mechanical, the other voice cut through his discomfort, slicing away the tendrils of corruption reaching into his mind and restoring to him the ability to think, for whatever that was worth.

For before him floated a being so vast and incomprehensible that to look upon it nearly crippled his mind, a being whose very presence spoke of a hatred that outlived the stars. Hatred for humans, for beasts, and for the usurping vagrants who had fled the wreckage of their worlds, drawing the attention of the umbral stars.

Unbound. Limitless. Infinite. Yet caged. And he...he was its only way out, wasn't he?

 _Remain, human. Remain and wish me free._

"No," the boy stated. Even in fusion. Even in fusion he couldn't really—

Ý̘̣͇̘o̴͖̱͕̍̈́͐̅u͊̚̚r̜̪̜̜̲͐̋ ̢͖ͣ̀k̵̙̘̬̱̲̠̪ͩ̾̿̃̇ȉ͎ͮn̸̙͚͑̄͊͗̓̿ͅd̤͙ͯ ̩͙͙̘̭͑͋͋̾ͪ̓̀ͅs̓̇̑̈́ͬͦ͑́t̼͖̭̦̩ͤ͋͊ͣ̽ͫó̥̙̫̙͉͑̆̔̀l͓̰̙̏͑̚e̢͇͙̜̓̍ͨ ͔ṯ̫̬̩̞̾̂̎͐͒͆̏̀h͡ë̛͛̾ͦͫ̿͊ ̎́͌̉̒͡e͖̩̼̖͖̍̽̊a͖̣̦̥ͨ̀̆̕r̨̤̦͕̿ͣͬ̐ṭ͑̍ͭh̦̰͐̓͐ͧͅ,͚͙̝ͦ ̯̣̟̰̙ͨͯͮp̳̙̜̟i͉̠̘͉̩l͔̥̻̘͐ͫ̏͑̌̚f͓̳͎͙̦̖̝͌͡e͊͆̀r̪̺̜͚̟̂ͤͫ̈̿̽̚e͕̮̤̺̠̊d̝̱̒̾ ͌̎҉͍̩̱ẗ̳́ͥͬ͛ͩh̵̥͍̝̙͍͚̝ͧ͐ͥ̈́̋ë́̆ ̱̩̔͋̂͒ͩ̓́m̵̼͙̹͍̰͓̉a̰̩̿̕n͙͎̰̤̭̘̳̒͒̊t͓̲̮̞̲̦l̛ͅe͌̔ͪ̽͐̅҉͇̝̯̠͙ ́̏ͬ̏a͎̞̫ͯͯͯ̂͂ͨ͒͢n̢͍͈̹̹͉̳̓̊d̷̙͚̼̲ͅ ͍̆t̻̥͐ͦh̼̤̫ͬ́͜r̼͔̪͖͕̝ͫͬ͢o̹̲̖͔͕̩̽ͬͣ̓͒n̥͍̼̟̰̖͝ệ̸̹̌̌ ͔̮̼̘̾͒ͪ̓oͤͦͧ͆͑ͧf̟̘͈ͩͣ̅̓ ͕̻̮̠͈̉̂͒̆̂ͭ̍t͍͗͐̀̓̆̀ḫ̸͉̣͉̫͈ͯ͆̽͛ę͔̰̝̱̜̜̞̓̄̅ͤ͛ ̪̏̅ͯ͆͆ͤ̈́p͉͚̺̺͇̼̘r̬͎̥i̝̯͓͚̖̘̇͆ͫ̚ḿ͈̜̙͍̪͞a͚̮̥̩̠ͧ̅ͥ̽ͭͅtͣ̉ẹ͛ͫ͒

The sound drove him to his knees, as the boy **_screamed_** inside his soul.

Why?

Why?

 _ **R̉͋͋̓͒ͨͮ͒̌ͥ̓͝҉̢̼͈̤͎̦̠̠̜̭̮̬̣͍͙̙̘̘̰͜Ë̎̈́̑ͧ͆͑ͫ̇̐̾̉̍ͪͬ ̄͐͏̝̯̠̖̻̼͎̥͙̮͔̭̳͈͢͞Ļ̡̛̻͍͓͔̮̞͓̄͒ͮ̾̕͢ͅE̵͔̖̦͕͆̒͐̏ͮ͡ͅ ͈̖Ấ̶̧̰͕̪̙̰̫̖͕̟͍ͫ͐ͧ̆ͮ́ͬ̓͐̚͜ͅS̴̴̙͈̲̺̽͌ͣ̅ͪ̓̍͑̉ͥ̚͢͠͝ ̫̟͕͈͇̭̣͎̙̼͚͈Ě̷̃ͣ̔̉ͣ̈́͊̔̽̓͜͟͠͏̝̦͓̪͕̟̺̬̙̯̺͎̼̤̱̜ͅ ̝̹ ̛̰̜̼̗͎͚̳͍ͭ̉ͩ͊̃̽̓̒͒̿ͫ̂ͦ͊͊͑̃̑̕͟M̴̮̺̘͖̹̖̰̹͍͔̮̜̬͂͂͑̍̐̒ ͎̖̟ͅE̵ͯ̐͒ͫͨ̌ͪ͝͞͏̴̪͙̼̞̬͚͖!**_

His body shuddered.

His mind quailed.

His soul trembled, felt as if it was about to tear itself apart from the spiritual pressure of this place. Toxic in its intensity. Oppressive. Like every second he spent here, something of himself would be lost.

 _"I...I...I won't. I—"_

He thought to move, to run to flee, but—

Matou Shinji _**screamed**_ , unable to outrun agony's impulse.


	81. Hero

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 80.** _Hero_

Matou Shinji screamed as the suffering of an entire world flowed into him. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. _Painpainpainpain_! ravaged his nerves, ripped him apart from the inside out, as his nerves, his veins, his very cells were trying to tear themselves out of him, through the thin barrier of his-.

Barrier.

The word was his salvation, with a several layer thick bounded field shimmering into existence at a single thought, and the voices - the pain going mercifully silent for a single transcendent moment of peace.

The respite lasted less than the blink of an eye, for the barrier _evaporated_ the instant the First Jinn turned its attention upon the hastily erected construct - though that tiny window of opportunity was enough for the boy to send his ofuda in every which way, with the slips of paper surging forth not for the Jinn, but for the ground.

"How...?

 _ **T͙̙̟͔̟̬͈͐̋̆͐̇̄ͧͤ̚͠h̩̣̞̥͛̈́̏͐́i̛͔̞̝̹̠̥̗̣͔͐ͨ͌ͧͥͯ͛͂s̓̓ ͔̳͇͕̪̭͜ ̵̰̪̹͉͉̜̹ͫͧ̎̑ͧ͜c̍̏҉̭͕̺̙̠̳h̦͈̹̻͆̂̽́̈ä̸̳̗̘̣́̂̑̑̀͞tͣ̍̃ ͖̹̜̙͚̙t̴̡̞̯͚͓͔͙̜͙̂̓͒ͯ̔͜e̵̯͈̜̿̀ͦ͋̄͋ṙ̖͔̖̣͇̠͜i̜̮͖̎́̒ ̻̝̹̘ͅn̩̳͎̯͎̝͎̅̍̇̇͐ͥ̀͟g̴̴̮̜̭͎̫̯̥̊ͪ͢ͅ ̵̱͛̂̓ͩ͗̒ͩ͜p̖̘͉̦̃̊͘r̢̬̠̘̦̞̓ͮ̕i̸̢̩̖͓̜̿͋͌͂͒͠s̨̓ͮ̇̐͒̉͞ ̠̳̱̺̫̞̪͡o̧̯̙͚̭̜̳̩̩̾̉͆͗͟͞n̺̒̿͗̀͆̾ͬ̔͛͝͠ ̵̯̥̬̬͇̗͈̀ͥͧͥ̾̏̐ͬ̑͠͞s̱̥̃ͭ̄͊ͫͣ͒́ͅā̗͓̬̻̔̏̚͞p͑ͫ̄̂ͯ̚͜͡ ̲̲̟͉s̪̤̞̞̥̮͉͕ͥ̉ͤ͑ͥ ̯̹̂ͤͣ̐m̦̬̘͙̻͇ͯ̈̐̃͒͒͒̃̍͟ỳ̱̮̀͜͝ ̲̥ͮ̐̑͊̚͠mͥ͊͗ͧ̚҉̸͈͡i̅̊͐ͮ̐ͣͧ̔҉̴̹̦̟̤̤̠g̨̲̱̮͈͉͛ͨ͢h̄͂ͣͭ ̡̤̦̘̰̗̓ͯ̾̒̈ͅtͥ̓́ͨ̽̒̔̚̚҉͉͙̤̟̬.̸͙̪̗̜ͧ͋̓̍ ͉̜̞͍̝͑̓ͮ̐̓̚ ̴̧̠̼ͦͥ͒̾͗̈B̥̥̯̥̃u͕̙̥̠̪̼̞͎̱̐ͭ͐͗́̕ṫ͓͇͇͕͚͔́͒̈̓ ̉ͅê͈̓̌v̷̲̓ͮ͋͌͌ͦ͘͡e̱͔͌̃ͧ͢͞ͅn̶̶̫̥͇͇̲̹̻̅̔̒̔̈̂̈ͦ̒ ͥ́̅ͨ̀̑̚͘͏̬̟̳͙a͚̙͉̱͛̓̄͊͢ ̙͍̿͠ͅf̶̤̳̱̿ͦ͐̇͗̏̈́ͥr̭̲͍̠͔̳̤̘ͮ̎͛a̬̟̩̭͊ͧͩ̎ͫ͋͂̀c̾̌̋ͭ̈ͫ ̅͘͜͏̼̜̮t̡̫̫̠̖̰͎̃̈͗̆ͨͫ̾ḯ̧̛͈̩̯̪̜̪̲̟̱̓͊̑̈ͬ͊̒͠o̡̭̰͒͊͘ṋ̠̳͊ͪ̋ͧͣ̇ͯ̾ ̂ͯ̋̂ͩ͟͞͏̫͕͇o̡͓̦̜͕͌̎̍̾͋ͦ͌̾͝f̨̡̗̥͈̲͖͔̼̘̣ͩ̈́ͦ̀ͫͧ̎ ̨̼̥͓̞̗̤̩͍̀̍̋̽̃̅͟m̡̩͙͍̼̣̠̝͉̏̇̇ͤ̔ͭ̕y̢̥͚͓͈̣̥̞̭̑̏̓̏ͣͅs ̈́̌͆ͧ̄͜͏̻̭̜̞̭͕̥̳e̛͎̤̫͖̪̹ͩ̄̅̈͆̊ͬͭĺ̳̳̙̹̭̳͍̞̽͊̅͒̍̐̍͝͡ ͇f̧̣͔̰̩ͮͭ̚ ͕̯̖͖̳̝͎ͭ͆ṃ̤͐͒͟a̟̳̮͍̞̻̓ͭͫͥ̎̓͊̚ḵ̶̼̹̠̓ͬ̏̈̆́͜ëͧ̇̍̈͌ ̶̻̮̘̕s̸̹ͬ̾̆͐ͬ ̶̇͋͏̝̳͓̠͇̻̼̜t̓͐ͦͦ͏̵̩̻̖͓̩h̴͎͙̮̼̟̎̓ͦ̂̅͟e̸͙͕͎̟͇͗ͧͩ̒́̈ ͙̻ ͎̖̱͖̻ͫ̍̀͐̔̈́̚g̗͉͇̲͊ͣ̍̓͂̃͋̔̚͜͢ͅo̢ͯ͂̔͛̊͒͏̻͕͚͙̳ḓ̜́̉̈́͢ ̫̺̹͈̬s̗̩̲̰͂̽͊͛ͤ͂͆͗̚͠ ͈̥̙͇̜̤̐͑ͪ̒̄̆͋̍ͣ͞t̷̢͚̺͍̥̭͕͖̭̾̿̈r̢̛̫̭̓͊ͭe̷̵̻̪̖̤̓ͪ͠m̀ ̵̷̢̜̖͙͈͙͚̝́͛b͖̪̜̦̜̠̖̣̂͋̑̾̈́̑l͉̗̅̾͛̀̾̀̀̎ͥ́e̙̜̿ͫ͒̓.̊͑ ̡̛̳̣ͪͬ̄̂̓.̟͋̋̀͌ͩ́̕.̫̹̾̈́͝**_

The agony returned, freshly redoubled, with Shinji - now that he knew something that would provide some manner of defense, no matter how feeble, calling on every last ounce of his might to raise an anti-spirit bounded field, aiming to block the mental assault.

 _ **I͖̯̭̦͒̃̒͐ͦ͒͆ͥs̮ͤ̏ͦ͋͛̿̇̏̽͢͡ ̡̗ͨͣ̊ţ̟̼̜͚̭͎̭̟͍̌̎͌̍ͮͥ̕ḫ̦͈̱̺̒ͩ̑̑ͫ̿ͦ́i͇̘̊̔͡sͤ̓ͨ̌͐̈́ ̶̢̛̣͖̐̐ ͓͍̃͆̈̀ͨ̂̾ͧ͢͝ẗ̡ͫ͗ͯ͛͏͔͓͖͔͉h̸̨̠̖̻͕̪̅ͦ̈̌ͤͬ͑͠e̢̋͗͒ͧ͋ͭ̀ ̖̯͉̥̘ ͙͚̻̯̣̭̱̘̐ͭ͆ͩ̽ͤ͋ͩ̕͘e̖̼̘̥͍͆̃͗̽̌̈̓ḟ̯̥͔̜ͪͤ͗ͩͩ̍͑̍͘͟͠ͅf ̶̡̖̹͍̼̜̻͈ͧǫ̖̻͔̹̯͙̀̂̎ͩ̋̀̑r͔̙̫͖̙̈́̓ͯ̂ͧͫ̄́ṫ͈̄ͣ͋̏̋̄͒͟ ̭͔ ̷̵̣̮̘̰͓̣̤̠̹͂̅ͬ͆ͣ̑ͯ́ͣ͞ȯ̬̣ͤ͊̌ͩ͛ͅf̣̲̮͎ͦ̓̀͂̀̓̓͒̀͢ ͉̹̞͓ ̷̱̘̥̖͍̭͚̪͛̃ͫ̄̍͆͗͑̆͝͝à̘̼̤̩͔̩̫͗̀ ̵̷̜̖̻̘ͥͣ̅ͪm̴̧̠̹̜͕̞̝̩̒ͭͥe̛͇̤͒̒͘ẃ̵̨̨̦̫̟̜̰̝̪͖ͤͧ̎ͣl̔̐ ̧̠̦̼ͮ̂͌̌ͣ̔͒̀͡i͖̖̰͔̙̻͙̍̐ͭ͊̕n̶͎̯ͫ̆ͦ͗̓̔͛̀g̴͎ͧ̈̾̐ͪ̂ͨ̃͞ ̠͎̲ ̧̗̪͔̖̽̅̉̾̆̐̀̚â͓̱͈͚ͭ̇ͭ͊͞p̘̆͠e͛ͨͩͩͬͨ̆ͤͮ͏͏̟̟̜̟̀?̣̃̄͠ ̮͚̘̜ ̸̺̣̝͖̪̣͓̐ͫ̕Ṕ̜̥̿̈́ͧͥ̋̉͜a̢̭͇͕͇̎̾̂͑͑ͪͭͥ́ț̵͎͓͔̲̉ͧ͊ͯ̌̚ ͅḩ̴̡̩͕̦͋ͥ̅́͂̈ͧ̌e̯̹͙͑̑̓̋̄͊͝t̢̳̘͓̀̽̄̍ͨ̔̓ī̛͈̳̳̗̙̭̕ͅ ̖c͍̮̫͖̬͙ͩ̊̀ͣͅ.̢͚̠̫̬̌́̓̃̒̍̑̓̀́ ̰̻̮ͥͤF͆̏ͨ͌̌ͣ͏̡̻͇͇̪̯ͅr͑͛̌̈͏̡̬̳͍̞̞̺̦͎e̸̛͇̜̱̲̓̐͊͌̽͊̓͠ ͈͕͍̭e̶̢̻̥̦̖͚̫̣̹̔̈ͯ̏ͧͮ̀̐͠ͅ ̵̈͗͋͛̓ͣ͏̗̳̦m̬̙͇̻̲̬̮ͤę̙͎̻̝͚̰͎͕̿,̛̼̮͖̭̲͇ͧͤ̆ͯ̌̈́̆ ͍̺̬͈͋͛͋ͫͅa̺̪̮͔ͧ̎̓̈͆̀̚͞ņ̣̯͕̘̤̠̦͊ͫ͂̽ͣ̂̀̀d̴̿̌ͮͯ͏̰͎̺͉ ̞̝̮ ͙͈͎̍̐͊̆͠y̴̩̞̬̼͇̣͓̓ͩ͢o̖̹̟̥̲̖͎̟ͩ̆ͅu̧͕͍̠̱͚͔̔͛ͩͪ͒͘r̋̌͒ ̡̨̛͚̹̞̦̥̠̰ͬ̈́͆ͪ̍ ̖́ͮ̇͞pͥ̍͗̍͛͊͢҉̘o̦͎̮̙̬͎̟̎̑̏̆̉͡ͅw̷̖̣̫͉̘̦̣̾ê͑̔̋̓̿̎̚҉ ̨̹̖̯͎͎͍̜r̜̞͖̹͈ͪ̽͒͡ ̶͍̦̱̺͍̙̃͂͆ͥͪͬ̓ͅw͖͖̣̥̻̖̺̮̒̑ͬ̆̋̓ͭ͝i͌͒̇́҉̱̗̫l̄̿͌̉̓̽͊̓ ̯̮̦͖̹̞͞l̸̷̰̟̾̊͗̈̉̏̽͗ ̶̢̝̳̞̔͒̓̆ͬ͡b̖̭̯͗͋́̾͂̾e̥̖̳̜ͮ͛͟ ̴̺͔̱̠̓͊ͥͭ̀̔̀̀͠ǎ͕͕̬̥̣̔̄ͩͤͪ̔̚͢ ͫ͒͗ͧͤ̑̓̆҉̣̭̯̣̬t̨̤̩͈̫̭ͫ̈̐ͩ͢h̴̡̦̱̜̄ͣ͑oͣ̽ͩ̏͡҉͇̟̼̼̮͙̬̦ u͖̼̣ͪ̒̀͠s̠̻̝̥̬̬͍͕̉ͫ̓ͮͤḁ̴̫̪̈̄̆̂̌͋̈́͗̚͝n̷̢̠̫͈̥̼ͦ̅̉̆͡ ̙̙d̵͓͚̒̚͟f͚̰̬̘͍ͨͬ͑ͬ̎͞o̜͂̋͌̅l̵̘̼͂ͤ̿͋̓̈́ͫ͢d̗͇͋͋̽̌ͤͫ̚͞ ̜̦ ̨͙̖̯̲̋ͫ͋͋̾̽̏̚t̷̜̗̮͉͖͈̒͝h̲̲̰̭ͧ͐ͩ̎̃̿ͭ̉͡ị̶̴̡̼͎̋͒̾͒͗s ̯̱̞̜̯̼͙̈́̄ͣͮͭ̓ͮ̅̂͜͠.̧͔̠̈ͪ͟ͅ.̵̵̡͓̥̟̜̥ͨ̌̿̂ͦ̀.̢̡̳̙͙̻̇͢ ẁ̸̷̞̳͓̠̆ͪ͜e̬̥̣̘̩̻̩͎̬ͥ̋͑͒̔̋ā̛͚̱̌̑̏̽ͪ͊͠ķ̷̛̝̥͋̃ͪ̾ͫ ņ̏̐ͨͮ͏̱̱̟e̸͙̦̭̘͍̤͚͗͐͠s̨̱͙̳̹͚̹͚̦͔̏̈́̎s̛͇͎̘͑͌͊̑͂͛́̀͞ ͙̪̟.͕͇̝̥ͦ͋ͬͭ͐̒́̀̀**_

Pain, mingled with the promise of pleasure, its strength overwhelming as it mere presence forced him to his knees, and-

The boy vanished, disappearing from the world into a possibility space blissfully free of the whispers, of the tortures, of the promises and lashes of the angry earth.

 _'Between. I am...between.'_

He realized where he was in an instant - since he could feel the presence of each and every one of his ofuda, their prana - his prana, tugging at him to rejoin them as his body sought to complete the flow-walk.

There were enough ofuda on the platform that he was suspended between them in something like a construct, defined by mind and soul and magic, separated from the world.

 _'I can hide here. Because this world is mine!'_

So he'd had the hubris to think, though that presumption was replaced by ice-cold fear as each of the points of light - the ofuda he'd scattered - faded and vanished from his awareness, and with a undignified squawk, the boy re-materialized within the cell, sprawled on the ground, with all of his anchor ofuda gone.

No. Not gone. Their physical forms were still there, but the prana...

Drained.

The boy cried out as he was launched into the air by a vortex of wind, invisible blades biting at his stony skin like a thousand angry maws as they spun around him, of a spiritual quality high enough that even his fusion form's innate resistance was no defense against it. If the Jinn had wished it, he would already be dead, his life snuffed out before he could do anything to fight back but-

 _'It doesn't want me dead.'_

It wanted him to wish it free, or to use him to gain its freedom, which meant it needed him alive for whatever reason. And if it was handicapped like that, then even he - even he stood a chance.

So the boy thought as he released the power sleeping within his corrupted water ofuda, his decay-aligned prana forming a black fog as it surrounded him, the stings and slashes of the shredding wind fading away as the Jinn's control was interrupted, no matter how momentarily.

Seizing the opening, Matou Shinji unleashed hell, his flashbang ofuda streaming out from his sleeves alongside explosive ofuda, and those of water.

Even those of binding.

 _'Bind!'_ he invoked desperately. _'Bind bind bind bind **bind!** '_

But without something to bind, some concept to restrain, his prana could not find purchase on the ancient being, as compared to it - his arts was frail and flawed, the conceptual model on which they were based tattered and torn. If only, if only he knew its...

"Name! What is your name, Great One?!" Shinji shouted at the evil-shaped form too massive to comprehend, the form which nearly drove him mad just looking at it, with the boy flashing from ofuda to ofuda to limit his exposure to its...presence.

 _ **Iͥ̓̋̑ͥ҉̦̮̞͖̟͙ ̤̻͓̭͇̪̜̱͒̅̔ͭ̃̄͢͡n͚̝͈̞̘̭̿͗̆ͦͧͭ͜ȩ̟̟͔̎̆ͨ̉͑͜ē̇̔̎͂͛ͭ͢ ̩̱̥̗ͅd̯̔̒̑͐̿̏͋ͫ̆̀͠ ̵̘͉͎͚̲͎̋̋͂̾͌ͨͬͤͣ͞n̼̮̱ͩͤ̈ͧ͟ơ̩̼̬̱͎̻͖͔̈́͋͒ͣͯ̄̀͜ ̶̶̮̦̼̫̮̯̠͐͋́ͅn̵̥̙̖̜̙̩͈͆̇̔ͦ́̉̔̾̕ả̢͔͑ͦͤͥ̓͑̚ṁ̉͆ͮ͂̒͂ ̗͎͔͚̫̿͠e̳̳̹̒̔.̭̪̓̋̊͆̊ͥ ̺̼̝̟̟̥͐̈́̎́͑ͬ̈̅I̱͚̤̲̞̪͉ͣ͋ͥ̀͘̕ ̬̩̱̂̓ṋ̸͉̝̎̌̑͝e̢̝̩̠͉͈̞͊̏̾ͤͪͤê̼̦͚̫̗̯̭̠͒d̢̪̜̠̔̀ ̶̤̠͎̱̻͈̤̿̋̇́o̹̹̟̠̝ͧͫ̑̑͗̚ņ̺̳̭̞͍̱̤̟͉͂͐͂͝͝l̡̧͖͎̝͉̍̃̀ ̝͈y̱̺̦͍ͣͯ̐͌̓͒́ͅͅ ̡̖͍͉͚̣̮̫ͦ̂̈́͌̏̊b͕͍̣͈ͮ̂ͭͮ͐̀̄ͬ̈́ę̢̦̳͈̖̮̯ͦͨͫ́ͣ̄̎̆͜ ͔̘̻**_

And without a name...

Without some means for his arts to take hold, Shinji had no chance of binding something like this.

 _ **D̸̹͚̩͍̀ͫ̉̓͌ͫͫo̸̹͉̜̼͎ͯ̌ͧ͆̀ ͙͍͕̬̺̓̉̒ͮ̈́̔͘͟y̸̜̳̮̬͖ͫ̔ͬ͋̎o̘ͦ̃̓̑̐͗̍̎̀u̸̴̮͔ͦ̀ ͎̙̟͉͈ͩ̋̅̄ͥ̃͂̕ͅt̢̥̗̼͇̝̀́͞h̶̖̘ͮ͌ͣ͑͆͛̑͗i̢̲̞̥͂ͯ̈́̇̌͂͛́͞ ̣̠͓̣̰ͅn̡̖͔͈̬͇͖ͥͩ̃͜͝k̥͙͈͍̣̍̾ͯͭ̂̑̍́ ̵̗͇̬̍ͬ̓̒̂ͫ̈́̌͜t͉̣͔̖̙̞ͥ̑ͧ́ŏ̤̒̀ͪ͐̋ͧ̃͟ ̬̱̮͓̒ͯ̇̓̀̏͒͜͡d̥̯̻̥̗̬̼ͯ̎ͨ͌͢o̗͉̻̣͖̓ͭ͊̆͑ͧ̚͡ ͙̻̤ͥͩ͑ͨ̂͜a̳̦͓͙̣͕̥ͦͥ̽ͧ̃͂̈́̑͟l̑ͪ͐҉̸͓̗̮͎ơ̭̩̙̩̼̜͛́̂ͧ̋͞ ǹ̳͍͕̺͕͉̗͓͑e̴̯̩̜̦ͮ̒̑͌̅͆̀̏̚ ̻̝̞͚̲̘͚̞͔̈͒ͩ̋ͬ̋͂ͬ́̚w̤̭̣̤̖̻̥̓̂͒̚h̷͋̓̓ͤͣͬ̔ͪͭ͏̪͙̤̝͖͠a ̷̢̤̝̼̝͙̑̅ͭ̒ͣ̓ͮͅt͇͓̩̻͓̻ͨͪ̈͐̑̐͗ͩ̚͢ ̝̠̣̜̓͗̓͆̑͟t͈̩͑ͣ̕͞h̼̆̒ͭ̓̌̍̕͠ẽ̵͑ͣ͒͠͏͎̲̰̜̜͈̲ ̸̷͔͔̘̳̰̋͒ḡ̢͚̀o̯͉͚̮̹̳͍̗͒̄̀ď̮̙͙̠̮͒̕͢s̩͇͙̯̾̔ͅ ͈͍͈̻̻̻̈͢c͎͇̬̮̃͋̐ͩ̑̈ͬ̚̕õ͖͙̝̥̑ų͓͕̰ͪ͐̂̚͡l̴̷̂ͥ͂̈́̌̐ͮ ͉͙͔͓̗̰̲̤d̳̝͇̗̯͖͗̚͘͟ ̴̟̤̣ͦ͂̊͂͜͢ṅ̵̤̫͎͎͉̱̀̉ͨͦ̋͊̍ö̤͎͚͇̟͔̹́͋̇ͪ̇̍ͩ͗͟t̨̍ͭ̃ͥ͟ ̲̬͍ ̆ͪ́͞͏̘̱͇̺͉tͥ҉̖̺̼̮͇͖̣̘̥ơ͈͍̞̮̌͗ͅͅǧ̸̻͉͓̱͈̰̦͔̙̃ͦͮ̿͗͡ e̴̛̮͓͖̞̮͔͛͌ͦ̓ͮ̒̑͑̏ṱ̶̹͈̩͎̜̗͑ͩ̌̓̉ͦͫ͒h̴̥͙̘̔ͪ̓̒͗ͭͭ̒̑͘ ͇̭̪e͇͙̟̹̺͒̐ͦ̃̃̇̇̇̕r̡͔̼͈̻͕̲ͣͭͅ?̛̩̳͔̞̌̈́̏ͤ̓̽̏̚**_

The spiritual pressure around him doubled, redoubled with Shinji materializing his scythe just to stay upright as the Jinn's power, unshaped and unformed, bore down on him, seeking to crush him - to break him.

His consciousness... _shattered_ as the whispers invaded him, magnifying every moment of self-doubt, every feeling of weakness, every time he had cursed himself. Every time that - like Icarus - he had reached too high, sought too much. Every time he had disappointed someone. Every time he had hurt and been hurt. Every betrayal and realization he had experienced in his life, played before his eyes, whispered in his ears, burning brightly in his soul.

He could...he could give in.

He could...he would be...he would be granted power. A wish. A...

 _'No.'_

For in his mind, teetering so close to the precipice of madness, to his utter doing, he'd come across one last memory, which resisted unraveling, shining in his mind like a crystallization of everything that mattered.

The memory of a young woman in a yukata of midnight purple, patterned with the faintest impression of red leaves, held together with an obi. The young woman who carried on her slim shoulders the weight of the world, her purple eyes full of calculation, compassion, and challenge as she looked upon him.

Reach my side, if you can, her gaze seemed to say. My...

Vassal? Slave? Classmate?

No. It was none of those things.

The word on her lips was...was...

"Friend," a voice spoke. He...who was he? He didn't recall it anymore. Why he was here. What he was doing. What did anything mean. All he knew was that she...that she...

Her name.

What was her name?

It...

It was...

Her lips. Her lips were moving, forming a word.

S...

Si...

"Sion!" the boy cried out, clinging to that last memory with all of his might. He couldn't...he wouldn't betray that smile. He...

And in that moment, just as all hope was about to be lost, a miracle occurred, as the chains which bound his mind were broken, washed away by a pulse of purifying light, erupting from his upper arm.

The pressure...the immense power that had threatened to crush him just by looking upon him, was gone. And more than that, he could feel something reaching for him, as if through a fog - someone offering him - a human - power enough to fight this monster, if he only reached out and entrusted his fate to its blade.

His arm throbbed painfully, as he lifted his head and lifted his head, seizing the power that offered to him - power to fight this monster, to do the impossible, no matter the cost - as his arm blazed white, a miracle approaching the realm of True Magic manifesting for briefest possible moment as memories of a life that wasn't his flooded into him.

 _ **Y͚͚̮͒ͯ̐́͞o͖̥͂̔͆̈́̂ù̩̣̺͉̍̒ͩ̈́ͧ.͈͍͓̳̟͐ͫ͐̅ͩ̃̅.̩̞̝̯̄ͫ.͍͓̖̘͈̬ẗ̶̫̥̭͍͔́ͮͤͧ͌ͦh̪͖̟ͫ̂́ͨͨa͖͛ͮ͐̈́͑̉t̷̥ͩ͂̃̌ͮ͐ͥ ̳̠̲̄̈́̒ͬ͌̅͠p͎̩̾̎ͪ̊̄̈́ͧo͈̘̻̟̻̺͙ͭ̊ͯ́w̴̪͎͓̪͓̰͑͂̐ẻ͖̌̍ͨ̓͡r̗͛͐͋̒̋̾.̓ͣ.̲̫̥̲̞͋͂͆͟.̧̼̼̘̠͈͐ͭ̀ͬ͊̐ͅ**_

His arm throbbed painfully as he lifted his head, seizing the power that offered to him - power to fight this monster, to do the impossible, no matter the cost - as his arm blazed white, a miracle approaching the realm of True Magic manifesting for briefest possible moment as memories of a life that wasn't his flooded into him.

He was / had been / would be...

...a warrior fighting against impossible odds.

...a lone adventurer bearing tools gifted to him, facing a foe the human mind could not truly comprehend.

...a man who put everything on the line for the sake of the one who meant everything - more than his life.

Matou Shinji had sworn once that when the time came, in an oath witnessed by the King of Heroes, that he would oppose that which sought to bring destruction to the world, even if it cost him everything, because that was what she would have him do.

And so, within this cell in which the First of the Jinn was imprisoned - a being that had come close to overthrowing the Age of Gods in its own right, the boy stood tall, magical energy rushing through him as the Grail - backed by the power of a Command Seal - heard the wish of his innermost heart...and answered.

True, there was no ambient prana here. No spiritual vessel, and no pathway through which one could be manifested and filled. Yet, there was a vessel all the same, and if it was one of flesh and blood, not ether, so what? The boy had offered everything, after all, entrusting his fate to its blade, forcing the summoning to continue by means of an already spent Command Seal.

 _I am thou. And thou art I._

Prana exploded from the boy's form as he sprang into the air, winged sandals materializing on his feet and carrying him unerringly towards the ancient Jinn.

 _ **I͛̈́̅N̺̙̺̤̣ͫ̇̔̄̎͠C̵̱͚̯͔̲͇͂̈ͩ̍̌ͦ̚ͅA͈̳̟̞̳̺͚͒͊͐̒̍̆͞R̛̪͓͉̥̥̥̿̆N̻͕̭͛ͬ̆Ȃ̴̜̟̼̺̺ͧT̘̩͉̗̺͎̾̏͗̅͜I̢̱̘̣̝̙͇̫ͬ͌̔̅͌̓̇O̞̪̿ͩ̿ͨ͌̎ͅN͌͊́͞!**_

The Jinn's / monster's power bore down upon him, but the power surging through him met it - and rejected it.

For was he not a Champion of the gods? A hero who had made his fame by challenging two great monsters - each time to protect a woman dear to his heart?

It did not matter that this vessel could not endure the strain of the manifestation, could not endure being filled by something far greater than he. It did not matter that his opponent was as far beyond the gods as the gods were beyond him.

All that mattered in that moment was protecting _her_ smile, fulfilling the promise he had made, as every part of his mind, body, and soul sought to deal a savage blow to the enemy before him. To fight.

To win.

As if to oppose him, a curtain of fire rose up, but airborne, he simply sped through it, his scythe devouring the white hot flames as his eyes shone with a smoky purple light.

Blades of wind. Shards of ice. Chains of lightning.

These and more, he avoided, weaving between them with a speed a mere human could never match, evading the fate of being burnt to ashes, frozen into a brittle, man-shaped icicle, torn apart by currents of prana, ofuda flying before him, detonating or releasing black prana to force an opening.

A column of black flame exploded beneath him - too great to be absorbed - and with reckless abandon, he angled upwards sharply, riding the currents of hot air that rose before it, carrying him up, up, up, higher, higher, higher as the scythe crackled, gleaming black-silver.

 _ **Y̴̧̻͚̜ͮ̓ͦͭ̽̋o̶̷̡̫͖͚͙͉̮͉̼̥̪̞̞̣̫̣̣̤̝̅ͯ̆̍̇́ͪ̒̆ͭ̿̐͐ͩ̊̏ͦͪṳ̧̟̣̰̩̱̭͉̥̏͛͐ͩ̌̀̚ ̴̢̢͉̻̦̗̪̖͚̻̰͓̥͕͇̳̬͙̮̫̙ͩ̎ͨͩ̋͒̎̈͘͠wͤ͊ͦ̅̍ͤͮ̆͑̔̊͂̀͏̘̗̬̝̖̦̼͙̼̹̹̮̦͍̦̗͖̤́͘͢i̴̜̹̗̩͖̘̞͑ͬ͗̃͐̈́̈́ͦ͌̂͛̆̓͘̕͘͘l͙̘̥͙̱͍̰̞̟̘͚̣̜̻̞͕͆̄ͯͮ̓͒ͩ̈̎͆͊̊̍̓ͧ́́͟l̵̷̡̧͇̤̬͓͓͍̼̣̱̗͉̗͎̦̭̣͓̀ͯ̎̍ͤ͂ͥ͌̎̇̐ͯ̒͂̚͡ ͯͣ̔̒ͪ̀̔͑ͪ̇̅̾̈́̉ͫͭͩͩ̑̕͏͠͏̮̲̗̝̫̹̲̳̯̯̝̼̳̫̫̗͔͙ͅn̴͓̱͓̟͙͓̮̠̜̗̠ͮ̍ͭͤ̕ö̶̶̼͕̖̜̘̖͚͓̘̯̩́̌̄̐ͨ͒͛̒̚͢͢t̷̛̤̖̩̺̣̬͔̮̠̗͓͕͙̞̜ͨ͊̈́ͭ̈̆̈̆̓̿̚̚ ̠̠̪͕̙̙̪̺̠̱͚͕̼̝̻͊͌ͥ̿̓ͭ̍͒͋̐̆ͮ̆̔͐͗̀̚͢ĕ̔̋͊ͥ͑̚͞҉͜҉̳͍̮̩̟̹̖̩̰sͭ̅ͥ͏̭͙̪̞̜̺̥̻͇͠͠ͅc͑̾͊ͩ̕͏̨̨͇̫͕̻̺̣̮̕a̶̡̟̬̺̗̠͔̳͍̲̞̣̙͎̬͛́ͭ̽ͨ͛̽̓͌ͯ͛ͮ͑ͯ̾̚͡p̾̄̀̉̓̄̈̎ͪ̈́̆͂҉̸̵̜̯̹̻̥͕̯̳̣̦̀ė̶̴̢͇͍̤͙̙͈͙̮͖̼̘͕̒͆͌̎ͨ̃ͮ͐̆̈̈͆͌̍̈́̚͜!̴̤̣̞ͦ̈́͂̆̆̋̂̀͠**_

But escape wasn't what was on his mind.

Only victory.

He'd ridden the buffeting air long enough, and now - just above the enemy, dispelled his sandals, going into a dive, a mirror-smooth shield in one hand, and his scythe in the other, plummeting down towards what in anything else would a head with godspeed.

Everything he had. Everything he was. Everything he once might have been and could be.

All his love. All his hate. The desire to protect. The desire to destroy. Everything from the past, his pasts, he joined into one dazzling strike, accompanied by a malestrom of paper to adjust his course or shield him, if need be.

He sped towards the enemy, and it - contemptuous of everything he had done before - finally - finally - evaded, his blade barely grazing the ancient Jinn as it caught him point blank with a blade of wind, the force of it ripping through him, enough to send him spiraling away.

The boy - man - reeled, as his body/soul/mind began to collapse.

He'd pushed too hard. Too far. He...he...

" **Expulsion Process Complete**."

* * *

He stared up at the featureless ceiling, struck by the utter silence that surrounded him. He'd been / never been here before. He was...outside. The urn. He'd...

...won.

And yet. Yet why was it that he couldn't move? That his body seemed to be tearing itself apart in pain, breaking down from within.

He...

He was...

Light flared, and as he glanced over, his attention drawn to it, his eyes, fading to grey, took in a painfully familiar figure, a young woman with sun-bright hair and eyes the color of the sky, more beautiful than any Nereid.

"...Andromeda?" he whispered. "Is that..."

And then he knew no more, as everything went black.


	82. Kämpfer

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe, under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 81.** _Kämpfer_

Slowly, as if his consciousness was slogging through mud, Matou Shinji began to stir, his body protesting rather too much for his liking as he opened his eyes and looked around, taking in his surroundings warily.

He was laying in the shrine that he, Ramona, and Ka'au had captured earlier in the evening, in the very corner where he'd gone to sleep. And from the feel of it...he'd been asleep for a very long time.

 _'What...? Was all that...a dream?'_ he asked himself, as fleeting impressions of an evil-shaped foe that a human could not comprehend flickered to the forefront of his mind, the recollection alone making him shudder in fear. _'Did I...just not wake up at all?'_ There were other fragments of memory as well. A blade of wind ripping his insides apart. **Pain.** Pain unimaginable - only he didn't have to imagine it, as it was carved into his body. And... _'Andromeda...'_

Sun-bright hair and eyes the color of the sky. Looking at where he was – nowhere near that ridiculous prison of souls, his mind/body/soul not broken and bleeding out near the urn containing the First Jinn – he almost thought it had to have been a dream.

And yet...the burning pain around his upper arm suggested otherwise, with the boy noticing with a start that something had been inscribed from the area the command seals would otherwise be.

 _'Huh?'_ he wondered, as he rolled up his quite ragged sleeve to take a look. _'Wait_ **what** _?'_

His shock wasn't just because his wyvern-hide robes were basically rags at this point, and he didn't even want to think about what could have done _that_ to wyvern-hide.

It was because the ouroboros – the outermost of his three seals – was gone. The crescent moon and the eye of Horus that comprised the others, remained, save their positions had shifted, and both were now bound by a triangle, its lines glowing a soft azure and thrumming with prana.

' _What the heck? This isn't a command seal…'_

And the design it made was…strange.

An eye within a pyramid.

' _I've seen this before. This design.'_

He was sure of it.

But where?

Before he could think too much about it though, he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"So, you are awake, Matou," the soothing tones of Ramona Ahgeak spoke from behind him, with Shinji turning to see the Champion of Qausuittuq adding a sprig of some azure-colored plant to the cauldron. "I was beginning to worry, since dawn will be upon us in little more than an hour."

 _'...what? Dawn? Did I sleep that long?'_

How was that possible? Wouldn't the Champion of Qausuittuq have woken him up? Or the Champion of Nu'utea Kohu, at least?

"Huh?" he said eloquently, confusion writ large across his features. "Dawn? And…that plant?"

The Inupiat girl chuckled.

" I admit, I did not expect you to find any Thaumatagoria in your foraging," Ramona responded with a hint of a smile. "It is, after all, one of the rarest plants in the magical world, so rare that very, very few know truth from fiction when it comes to what is said or written."

"...Thaumatagoria?" Shinji echoed. The name…well, he remembered reading it once, in the archives, but his mind was…fuzzy. It was like he couldn't quite concentrate, and…

' _That's weird. My public partition is closed off.'_

He hadn't noticed it earlier, due to everything else, but just now, when he'd tried to purge and reinitialize, nothing had happened. It was like the partition was just _…gone_.

Was this some weird aftereffect from the nuckelavee?

"...then you did not know what you found?" Ramona was continuing, a touch of astonishment in her voice as she regarded the boy for a second. "How curious." The young woman shook her head, before turning to the door. "Don't you agree, Ka'aukai?"

"Well, yes," Ka'au chimed in, with the Polynesian Champion stepping into the central chamber, seemingly unharmed. "I found a few items of interest in that twisted cave, but nothing that quite matches your discovery. Did you take a different passage or something? I only remember the one, really."

"I...don't know," the boy remarked, trying to remember, but finding that everything was just a jumble. Some of it seemed so fantastic that he couldn't believe it had been anything other than a dream. Some of it…there were images of flying through the sky, his blade ripping through a sea monster. A shower of gold. A woman's voice telling him _"The lights in the sky are stars."_ Dancing among the stars, holding in his arms a girl with hair like the sun and eyes the color of the sky. Whispers in the dark. The smell of the sea. The taste of…. The scent of sweat and musk and mingled lusts. The touch of skin on skin.

Pain. _**Painpainpainpain!**_

The boy staggered as his shoulder burned, the exquisite agony returning him to the present.

"Are you injured?" the Polynesian Champion said with some concern. "Your clothes were in fairly bad shape when you got back, but you seemed like you were in one piece."

"I…" Shinji blinked. "…how did I get back?"

"You don't remember?" Ka'au asked, frowning. "You were carrying _this_ , if it helps you remember anything."

"What's th—"

Shinji's breath was stolen away by the sight of a mirror-smooth shield, gleaming in the dim light of the room. There was something inside of him that recognized it, knew it, longed for it, and yet…

' _That's impossible.'_

He'd never seen this thing before in his life.

' _Is it a mystic code or something?'_

He frowned. Whatever it was, it didn't belong—

' _Huh?'_

That was all he could think as the shield dematerialized in a shimmer of golden light, with the Boy from the East bolting upright in shock. Wait...had... _he_ done that? Was that… _his?_

Apparently, the answer was yes, for when he thought of the item again, it rematerialized—this time in his hands, with the boy finding its weight comforting.

' _That's…really weird…'_

"I was going to ask where you found that item as well," Ka'au said quietly, raising an eyebrow as he processed what had just happened. "The craftsmanship is exquisite. And it had some interesting properties."

"...I see," Shinji glanced down at his arm uneasily. Someone had done something to him, he was almost certain. But why? And what? "Like what?"

"The ability to sense people's heartbeats, among other things," the Polynesian Champion noted. "I was just testing it on the other side of the wall."

"Ah. Sorry but…I don't really know." He bit his lip, looking down. "I don't know what it is. Why I had it. Why it is seemingly bound to me. It…doesn't make sense."

"...I see," Ka'au remarked, before turning to Ramona. "Dawn will soon be upon us. Are you almost ready?"

"Just about," the Inupiat girl replied, from where she was stirring her cauldron once, twice, thrice counterclockwise. "Just need to put the finishing touches on the potion, and then we can return to the village." She glanced over at Shinji. "Are you about recovered?"

"I…guess?" Shinji hazarded, not feeling entirely confident about his answer.

' _How about you, Zelkova?'_ he asked his familiar over their mental link, only…there was no reply. _'Zelkova?'_

Only silence reigned, with the boy beginning to worry, since his familiar always replied whenever he could.

' _So does that mean he can't?'_

That did not bode well.

Thinking to himself, the boy dematerialized the shield once more and drew his wand, willing to it to extend to its full length, then to retract again, which it did without protest.

' _So Zelkova is still alive. Just unresponsive. Something must have happened then. I just wish there was a good way to sort out the good from the bad.'_

"Then, since you are one of the primary combatants for the team, let me ask: how do you want to approach our return to the village?" Ka'aukai asked, glancing out into the corridor. "Ramona has volunteered to transport the potion itself and guard it against the hazards of the island, but it is not the island I worry about."

"It's our competitors," Shinji supplied.

"Exactly. I would be wary of an ambush, especially in the wake of that storm," the Polynesian Champion replied. "After all, there are two ways to win a competition. Create something incredible…or make sure your creation is the only thing remaining."

"And you think they'll target us," Ramona questioned, ladling some of her concoction, a shimmering gold streaked through with blues, into a few phials.

"Perhaps not us specifically, but I do think someone will attempt an ambush," Ka'aukai remarked. "I simply don't intend to be the target. Or if we must be, I want to be in a position where we can turn the tables on our assailants. So…your thoughts?"

"Give me a moment to see what resources I actually have left," Shinji asked, with the Polynesian Champion telling him to go and do it.

' _Huh. That's weird. The only ofuda I have…are the ones in the shrine?'_

He'd…he'd burned through _his entire stock_? What the hell had he been fighting?

In terms of potions…well, he still had a small vial of Liquid Luck, some incomplete Polyjuice vials, several small doses of Fading, some healing potions, about a dozen vials of explosive potions, some poisons, a vial of…light? and bezoars.

He had his spare wand of hazel and coral.

He had his knives – both the all black weapon he'd obtained from Lockhart that seemed like it would hold yin energy well, and the goblin forged dagger he'd gotten for Christmas last year.

He had a self-geis scroll he'd obtained from Rin. _'And all that mapo tofu, which probably counts as a chemical weapon.'_

And on his finger, a ring bearing a sliver of a fire-spirit's might, supposedly boosting his resistance to mental domination.

' _Or launch fireballs, I guess.'_

A gift from Tsuchimikado Hokuto 'for the challenges in the coming year.'

And clothes that were…well, the enchanted underlayer was mostly intact, even if there was a gaping hole around the torso. It was in better shape than what little remained of his once charcoal grey wyvern-hide robes.

' _So from Shinji the grey, I become Shinji the…whitish?'_

Oh, and he supposed he still had the _Book of Potions_ too.

…didn't he?

' _Wait…where did it go?'_ It wasn't in his Mokeskin pouch. It wasn't next to him. He couldn't find it.

A bead of cold sweat trickled down his spine as he thought about all the weird things that had been happening.

' _Someone must have taken it…'_

That…that wasn't good. Had someone meddled with his memory and his magic? Had he…gotten into a fight with a competitor and lost?

' _No…but then why would I have Thaumatagoria, or that shield?'_

It didn't make sense.

But then, very little did.

And given the circumstances…

"I think we should be cautious," the boy said finally, shaking his head. "I'm not feeling at my best. Some of my equipment is missing. And I don't really want to get ambushed, since I don't want to ruin what Ramona has put so much hard work into."

"You really think an ambusher could do so much to us?" the Champion of Qausuittuq inquired, sounding neither skeptical or worried about the possibility. "When both you and Ka'au are physical powerhouses?"

"I do," Shinji confirmed, his lips flattening into a thin line as he brought to mind the makeup of the teams arrayed against them. "I'm not exactly worried about a one on one confrontation. In a fair fight, I'm sure we'd come out ok." Well, except against the Champion of _Mahoutokoro_. Or the Champion of Beauxbations. "I'm worried about some kind of trap. Quite possibly from Stukov's team."

"It's not unlikely," Ka'aukai admitted. "You did mention that they had several bits of earth that were spawning bears, as well as animated trees. If, instead of gathering ingredients for a potion, they spent their time trapping the approach back to the village…"

"…admittedly, that could be a nightmare to deal with," Ramona agreed, the brunette frowning at the thought. "In that case, I assume they wouldn't be particularly discriminate about who they attacked, as long as it was a team with a good brewer."

"That _is_ likely the case."

Privately, the Matou boy rather hoped that someone would be foolish enough to attack Sajyou Ayaka, since that would likely result in their elimination from the tournament, given how the Champion of Mahoutokoro wasn't exactly known for self-restraint, though given that she also had a flying familiar, he rather thought she'd probably just bypass whatever was in her way.

Well, that or just reduce it all to ashes.

"Still, the walking wood spell isn't the most reliable," Ramona pointed out. "Suborning the Walking Woods is possible, after all, if one has the right affinities. Or at least, causing the trees to go out of control, which can have disastrous consequences for the caster."

"Provided the caster is nearby, which isn't a guarantee."

"Hm. True. I suppose that even if they do just rampage about, it will probably cause trouble," the Inupiat girl agreed. "Personally I am more worried about the Akindele and Müller team, though I do not know what to expect of them."

"Not the Sajyou and Labelle team?" Shinji inquired, more out of curiosity than anything else. He knew

"Knowing of the Champion of Mahoutokoro by reputation, I find it unlikely that her team would be attacking anyone," Ramona interjected, her expression perfectly neutral. "Nor do I think Elesa likely to attack anyone unless first provoked."

"I see," the boy mused.

"In terms of strategy, my thought is that if we are likely to draw attacks, it is best to do so on our terms, not those of our enemies," Ka'aukai pointed out. "In the event that there is an ambush, one of us should escort Ramona openly, while other remains hidden, waiting to surprise any would-be ambushers. Alternatively, we could move openly as a group, in the hope that our numbers will be some deterrent, or try to remain hidden the entire time, if you have some means of doing so."

Well. He _did_ have those Fading potion prototype vials, but given the oddities he'd encountered last time he'd taken them, perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to be handing those out at a time like this.

Therefore…

"What you said about drawing attacks on our own terms makes a lot of sense," Shinji agreed. "If an ambush is likely - and I think one is - then we should lure our ambushers in and crush them. Or at least leave someone away from the party so they can respond."

"I am glad we are of one mind," Ka'aukai noted, nodding slowly. "Would you be willing to be the one escorting Ramona? Given the abilities you demonstrated during the assault on the shrine, I think you would be ideal to weather an assault from our enemies."

"...if I could use those abilities at the moment, that would be true," the Japanese boy conceded, though with Zelkova silent, he didn't think his chances of being able to use fusion would be very high. "I'm...not sure that sort of thing is currently available to me."

"Ah. So, like my _tanifa_ form, there are constraints on how often you can invoke it."

"More or less," Shinji agreed, shaking his head. He didn't know exactly how long the Polynesian Champion needed in between uses of his "guardian of the waters" form, only that said form, while extremely potent in battle, required Ka'au to rest after using it _. 'Channeling something at the very edge of his abilities.'_ "As of right now, it will be some time before I can use it."

"...I see. That complicates things," the Polynesian Champion said with a frown.

"It does and it doesn't," Shinji noted. "Either way, one of us still needs to draw the attention of our enemies."

"In that case, let's go with you, Matou," Ramona spoke up, with both of the male champions turning towards her. "Matou is, after all, the youngest of the Champions, and so, according to some, the weakest and least skilled, whether in potions or in combat."

"I'm not that bad," the Japanese boy grumbled.

"Whether or not you are does not matter so much as what others think you are," Ramona pointed out. "In this particular set of circumstances, their false assumptions will be their undoing."

"Fair," Shinji agreed. The boosts granted by his enchanted underarmor could still make him quite dangerous, even without fusion, after all. "Though if we're going that way, we might as well only put one person at risk."

"Oh?"

"Well, you can go invisible, right?" Shinji questioned.

"Yes?"

"Then if I used Polyjuice to resemble you, carrying a decoy potion, while you hide yourself from view, and just go on to the village if there's an attack?"

"A decoy potion?" Ka'aukai echoed. "It would have to be something people wouldn't recognize at a glance."

"Well…there's this…" Shinji offered, drawing the shimmering vial.

"A phial of light? Where did you…?"

"I just happened to have it on me," the boy said almost flippantly, since how he'd gotten it was honestly something of a haze.

"Are you quite sure that is the wisest idea?" Ramona questioned, looking the boy over. "I would think that might draw the attention of more than just our competitors."

Which was a not insignificant consideration when one was on an island where relics of the Age of Gods lingered.

Still…

"...it can't be that bad, can it?"

The Champion of Qausuittuq _glared_.

"First, never tempt fate like that. That woman has absolutely no self-control," the Inupiat girl stated, the look in her eyes making it clear that she wasn't joking. "Second…let me examine the phial in question, and we will see."

Shinji rushed to comply, handing her the potion, whose glow had mostly faded. Ramona took it, running her fingers over the glass, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Interesting."

"What is?"

"I didn't know you were capable of creating conceptual items, Matou," Ramona noted with a hint of respect. "…you did create this, yes?"

"Ah...yes. Yes, I did," Shinji replied, nodding - even as he felt a pang of guilt for…something. "I can recharge it too, I'm pretty certain. I just need it to sit in the sunlight for a time."

"Or to be exposed to something equivalent."

"That wasn't a question, was it?"

"No." Ramona seemed to consider something for a moment, before taking a translucent orange stone from her pouch. "I suppose I could afford to use up a sunstone for the sake of the distraction, then," she said, coming to a conclusion. "It is far more common a reagent than a ritual-grade phoenix feather, after all."

She did something, closing her fist and opening it as the stone crumble in her grasp, freeing a mote of imprisoned light. She held it before her lips and _breathed_ into it, as the light grew and grew and grew, till the room was bright as the brightest day that had ever been…before channeling that power into the phial in wisps and tendrils until _it_ glowed sun-bright once more.

So brightly that one could not look directly upon it without being blinded.

"Here," she said, holding the phial out to the boy.

Shinji wrapped his fingers around it and took it, gratefully, placing it back in his pouch.

"...thanks."

He noticed then that she'd passed him one of her hairs, as well.

"What's this?"

"For you to complete your Polyjuice potion, assuming you have something mostly prepared, since we don't have time to brew a batch now."

"…ah yes. Right."

The boy proceeded to do just that, as the group made their final preparations for departure.

* * *

Only minutes later, the trio set off towards the village, though they didn't walk quite as quickly as they could have, since they wanted to be sure there was nothing odd waiting for them. Caution was the word of the hour, since it would be a shame to come so far, and yet be taken out of the running by a moment of carelessness.

Still, though they kept their eyes and ears peeled, there was nothing until they reached the last kilometer before the village, and the sounds of a terrible battle carried to their ears – crashes and cries and roars of pain.

' _A sound muffling barrier?'_

It had to be.

Or maybe the fight just wasn't that loud till now, with the trees—

There was a sound like cannons going off, as jagged spires of ice erupted from the ground, ripping through trees and causing others to explode as the temperature dropped below freezing for a fraction of a second.

But more and more trees rose to take their place, with the earth trembling as they thundered forth.

' _Who the hell are they fighting?'_

He didn't think he knew anyone who was _that_ skilled at using ice.

Maybe it was a team?

 _'If I had my ofuda, I could join the fight…'_

But he didn't, having apparently expended all his combat-use ones, so...

"We might be able to go around," Ramona murmured, from where she walked beside the boy currently wearing her form – invisible. "Or at least, Ka'au and I could. I don't know about you." She paused, tilting her head. "Though, I suppose we could carry one of your flow-walking ofuda, and have you join us on the other side. What say you?"

Shinji was just about to agree when a colorful series of French curses reached his ears, and the boy's eyes widened, recognizing the voice.

' _Rachelle…'_

Without thinking, without pausing to think, he acted, body vanishing from where he stood, only to reappear in a frozen clearing next to what looked like a somewhat wounded – and very angry – Rachelle Lestrange.

The French Champion's dress was torn, and her hair in disarray, and she was bleeding quite a bit.

In her hand was her unsheathed blade, with liquid motes of darkness swirling around it, and a sense of terrible, primal hunger radiating from it.

And around her…

' _Runes…'_

Dozens upon dozens of blood-red runes.

Scores of trees rushed towards her, thundering over the frozen earth to reach her and smash her delicate body apart, only when they reached her, she wasn't there, as another trio of animated treants crashed to the ground, drained of all life and color.

' _She's fighting alone?'_

Thinking that he couldn't see what was happening clearly, the boy took the phial of light out of his satchel and channeling a bit of prana into it so that it would glow more brightly.

Around him, he could see the glittering of ice crystals.

The wreckage of great trees and splinters that had been felled by spell and blade.

The form of the French Champion dancing through the air, on runes of light, moving, striking, slashing, an expression of grim determination on her beautiful features that chilled him to the bone.

Yet…at the moment, the trees stopped.

' _Huh.'_

No. Not stopped. Changed course, with the nearest ones – a full score – bearing down on him, as if he'd attracted their ire.

 _'What? But why? Trees can't see!'_

They couldn't, no.

But they could sense sunlight, and he was holding a phial glowing with the power of the sun.

 _'Shit. Shit shit shit shit.'_

Still, it wasn't so bad having enemies all around him.

After all, he told himself, as he brought his wand to his hand and expanded it to the length of a staff with a thought, that just meant there was no way he could possibly miss.


	83. Tribulation

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe,

under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 82.** _Tribulation_

It was something of an irony that the boy who had a tree spirit for a familiar, and thus should know better than anyone else on the isle the danger a tree could pose, was in fact, the least prepared for the arboreal fury he had brought upon himself.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it was just one of the awakened trees he was facing, or two, or even five.

But there wasn't one – there wasn't two – there wasn't five.

There were dozens.

Dozens upon dozens of…huorns? Was that the name Luna used for these sorts of things?

Not that the name mattered. Only what they were capable of, as their branches swung with great speed and strength in an attempt to crush him to a pulp.

Somehow – he didn't know how – he was able to follow their movements, which he had assumed would be impossible for him outside of fusion form. Still, just being able to see didn't mean a thing if his body could not keep up – and every time they moved, every time he was forced to dodge out of the way, as the scrabbled for him, the margin of error became thinner and thinner.

' _I can't keep this up.'_

He didn't have the strength to bat away tree limbs, nor the prana reserves to cast a barrier to keep them out, but…

As if in answer to his need, the mirror-smooth shield appeared in his hands, with the boy hunkering down as roots, branches, and more swung down at him, making the metal – and his ears – ring with each thunderous blow.

If he hadn't been able to manipulate earth, he wouldn't have been able to bleed the force of the blows into the ground, but even that was a temporary measure.

' _Huh…'_ The boy let out a startled squawk, as the back of the shield _changed,_ showing a strange pattern that he instinctively recognized as a representation of the battlefield with several large clusters of white dots, and three red dots – one around where Lestrange might have been, and two red dots in the distance. _'What is this…?'_

The white was probably the trees, but the red…

' _People? Do they represent people?'_

Something inside of him seemed quite certain that the answer was yes, but then…if the nearby one was Lestrange, then the ones in the distance…?

' _The ones controlling the forest?'_

And what about the dot that had just appeared on the shield, closing rapidly on the position of the distant two?

Not that he had time to worry, about those, as some of the trees were beginning to crowd up against him, seeking to snake their roots under his shield and impale him.

' _I can't hold out…!'_

But perhaps…he didn't have to, as the movements of the trees suddenly _changed_ , with the huorns slowing, no longer coordinated as they began rampaging wildly, their blows crushing one another as they grew frenzied, attempting to hurt something - anything,

And in the air…

'… _sand…?'_

Where once there was silence, the wind was howling, carrying with it angry grains of coarse sand that sought to grind away everything they touched. Trees, unrooted from the ground and unable to hold against the fury of storm, began to crash one by one, even as the boy thought of something.

' _The ring…'_

The ring that the Tsuchimikado heiress had given him, saying that it was something that could come in handy – if he remembered correctly, couldn't it be used to cast fireballs?

As beings made of wood, huorns should be vulnerable to flame-based attacks, at least if remembered his elements properly.

And so, tapping into his prana, he focused on the ring in his free hand, rising to his feet and casting a round of fireballs, each of which struck with a _fiss-whoom!_

Visually impressive, but to little actual effect.

The thing was, while it was true that fire did overcome wood, the wood in these rampaging trees was still suffused with water, and well – even those he _did_ set on fire felt no pain, as these weren't trees with spirits, just those which had been forcibly animated by magic.

He tried again, and again, and again, but as impressive as they looked, he couldn't break through.

Matou Shinji had never imagined that mere trees might be so difficult to face down, not after fighting spiders, trolls, and all manner of other foes. Still, those felt pain and entertained some notions of self-preservation. These trees did not, and if he was honest, wood was far harder to damage than mere flesh - especially when there was no heart to stab, no neck to slice through.

If he had his ofuda...

But he did not.

And yet—

Before he could think further, a wave of darkness seemed to rush over the world, accompanied by a spine-chilling wave of cold hunger that seemed to drain all happiness, all light from the world.

' _What the…'_

No. He recognized it. He didn't want to recognize it, but he did.

He'd felt it before, when Lestrange had gotten serious against the _tanuki –_ only this was something a hundred – no, a thousand times more deadly, as chaotic orbs of darkness filled the air around him, and as the winds stilled, he could hear a cold, inhuman chuckle.

'… _that's…Lestrange.'_

Indeed it was, with needle-thin tendrils of darkness exploding from her sword and anchoring themselves in the few trees which had not been drawn off by Matou's distraction. The tendrils withdrew a heartbeat later, but the damage was already done, with sturdy, living wood crumbling to dust in their wake.

' _What on earth…'_

But Shinji wouldn't get the chance to ask, as the Champion of Beauxbatons leapt onto a platform of runes she conjured and raced away, at a speed he hadn't thought her capable of.

' _No…that's not right. She wasn't running away. She was running towards the other dots…the ambushers.'_

But the way she looked…

Her face seemed almost feral, and the darkness that had once only floated about her sword now swirled about her entire body, almost like a cloak of something utterly _alien_ to the senses, incomprehensible to the human mind. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, as her sword flashed and her body moved, whirling, slicing, cutting – destroying everything in her way.

And through it all, there was an ancient, primal hunger radiating from her entire body, something that chilled him to the bone, nearly rooting him to the spot.

Seeing her – it was as if she had become Death, the destroyer of worlds.

Yet, despite the air of strength and power she put on, he had seen her hurt before.

He had seen how desperately she could fight. Had seen how, for all her ruthlessness, she never wanted to strike first. Had seen how fragile she could be – and how she hid all of that from everyone else, keeping them at a distance.

' _No…I…I can't. I can't just let her get hurt again.'_

He didn't want to see her body broken once more, when he had the power to do _something_ to help, no matter how small…no matter how foolish.

 _Go._ His heart commanded. And go he did, raising his staff into the air, and feeling for the store of energy he knew was in it – a reserve that was nigh overflowing with prana.

"CONFRINGO!" he roared, pouring every ounce of the prana in the staff into the spell, coupled with every bit of his will. Truthfully, what was inside was more than his own body could hold on a regular basis, and under normal circumstances, it would have been beyond reckless to use it all up in this manner, but…

The boy did so anyway, while trusting in the garments that his former Master had given him for some protection against whatever the backlash might be.

The resulting blast was like nothing he'd ever released before, a pulse of sheer devastation that swept over the trees swarming around him – and _obliterated_ them.

One moment they had crowded around him, seeking to bludgeon him into the ground, to smash his bones and pulp his flesh. The next...a storm of flaming splinters hurtled outwards, carried by a wave of force that shredded wood, tore up the earth, and carried with it a corrosive miasma that washed over the area, as tree after tree collapsed, no longer animated by the strange magic his enemy had invoked.

He nearly collapsed to the ground, his body weak from the exertion of shaping that much prana, yet…

 _'Rachelle. I have to follow...'_

His heart bade him to keep moving, and so he did, straightening as he confirmed the positions of Lestrange and the other signatures. Willing his staff to return to the size of a one-handed club, he drew upon his inner darkness, allowing it to flow into the wand, so that its surface glowed with a sickly black light, as he rushed forward, his body acting without thinking to follow Lestrange into the heart of the storm.

Yet, as he approached the position where he thought she might be, the winds grew stronger and stronger, the sand more abrasive and hostile, as if…

' _It trying to wear me away, drain my prana.'_

Yes. Where the grains touched bare skin, he could feel it sapping away his reserves, making his body feel heavier, tempting him with the promise of sleeping, of just getting some long-awaited rest after all he had done.

' _No. I won't give in._ _ **I won't.**_ _'_

So single-minded and determined was he to reach her side that he didn't notice the figure lurking in the storm, laying prone, until he fell to the ground, his shield clattering away into the distance as he lost his grip.

 _'Huh. What happened?'_

Why had he fallen? No…why couldn't he move?

Why...

 _'My leg. What…'_

It was missing. His right leg from the knee down – all of it was missing, with only a bloody stump left behind.

 _'Huh?'_

What...happened? Why...? How...

And then, as Parambir Agarwal of Tamirsthana rose from the sand, wand outstretched, a strange, floating sensation filled Shinji's mind, with every thought and worry in his head wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness.

The boy lay there, feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him, as mud was shaped into something like an imitation leg for him, and like a puppet controlled by a hidden master, his body rose, even as skin, clothes, eyes were blasted by sand.

Not that he cared about – or even noticed – the pain, as his body moved forward, wand in hand, continuing on through sand and wind until he could barely make out three figures warring against one another.

A slim figure clad in the deepest darkness, something that looked like a moving statue, and a figure clad in metal. A knight, a golem, and a demon, clashing again and again, with whirling metal smashing against a barrier of bloody runes, and sand ripping away at everything.

Darkness and light, opposing one another, in the heart of the storm, moving faster than humans were capable of.

The demon's side was injured, with something like liquid trailing from an open wound.

The knight had but one arm.

The golem was…monstrous, a beast of sand with jagged contours releasing howls, and seeking to surround the knight with sand to crush him.

As for himself, he was dimly aware of raising his wand to track the demon's movements, his body responding to a command it couldn't quite hear. Oddly, his mouth began to move, speaking…something like an incantation. It was a whisper, nothing more, barely audible over the wind, but it felt…odd all the same.

"A..."

It was hard to think, like everything was in slow motion, as if everything he was underwater, floating far away in the distance. It felt like part of him wanted to scream, to say something wasn't right, yet the rest of his consciousness was swept in a sense of utter peace and contentment, in the feeling that everything was alright.

That there was no need to fight anymore. That there would never been a need to fight.

Like this, the aches, pains, burdens he'd faced were simply…gone, as if they'd never been. As if he was free, with the chains binding him to things like fate or tragedy broken at last.

"...va..."

Matou Shinji had never known such a feeling before. Had never known such a thing was _possible_.

"...da…"

How blissful it would be to never feel pain again. To simply enjoy an eternity of ecstasy, free from worry, free from grief, free from the need to act.

To be.

"…Ked..."

Outside, the world was screaming.

People were screaming.

…chelle was …ing.

As if by magic, the sand before him parted, leaving only empty air between him and the demon, whose sword struck again, again, and again, at the knight, who was slowing. Staggering. Reeling, even as it sought to cut the demon down with conjured blades and axes, which the other could barely avoid. To bind it with chains.

To rip it apart with summoned beasts, which the golem was fending off.

The balance was tenuous.

Sooner or later, one would fall.

Not that it mattered to him.

They ' _…stra…'_ were out there.

' _Les…'_ was out there.

The demon… ' _ange'_ was…

…was…

…was…

...was looking at him sadly, seeing the wand ready to cast, an expression which pierced the veil of bliss, resonating with the part of him that—

' _Lestrange!'_

Her name. Not demon. _Lestrange._

 _The price of salvation was the death of a demon._

 _A stranger._

 _U—_ _ **NO.**_

"…avra!" the boy _**screamed**_ , completing the spell, as a sickly green beam left the tip of his wand and struck his enemy in the chest, with pain – pain unlike anything he'd ever felt – ripping through his own, like his heart was being torn in two.

For a moment, everything froze.

The sandstorm faltered.

The fighting stopped.

Everything was silent.

…well, everything but a howl from Matou Shinji's throat as he stumbled to his knees, the makeshift prosthetic coming undone as he lost his focus.

Beside him, the cloaked form of Parambir Agarwal swayed, standing stock still for a moment, before pitching over headfirst.

Dead.

As one might expect of a person hit by the Killing Curse.

He…

…why was there a blade ripping through his stomach?

Something like an axe.

Why was his arm…

Beasts…

Beasts…

Why…

The last thing he saw before everything faded was a brilliant blue light the color of the untamed sky, a beautiful azure that washed everything away.


	84. Trials

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe,

under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 83.** _Trial_

For those on the Isle of Thule, the events of the past two weeks had been dazzling, with demonstrations of combat skill, culinary skill, creativity in brewing and more. And since, for most, it was their first time watching (or participating in) the festivities, they expected more of the same from the survival exercises – something to evoke awe and wonder, curiosity and delight.

…they most certainly had not expected to witness a life-and-death battle involving almost half of the Champions gathered on the isle – a horrifically brutal affair from which none of the participants had emerged unscathed.

Most had serious injuries.

Several had lost limbs.

One had suffered horrific, disfiguring burns.

One had even lost his life – with the spell drones capturing the very moment when he was struck down by the Killing Curse, with his killer thinking so little of the man killed that "she" didn't even bother to look at him.

This last would become the cover photo of quite a few publications in the coming days, at least those which were not celebrating the achievements of their region's Champions, or had more pressing concerns to focus on.

Still, none of these things mattered for those at Durmstrang, half a world away (and in a much colder clime) from the isle where the Potions Championship was taking place. After all, it was their honor to host the _Tri-wizard Tournament_ , and with the winter holidays far behind them, the attentions of Champions, Commanders, and common students alike were focused on one of two things: the Capture the Flag games that had been going on since the fall term, and of course, the buildup to the third and final Tri-Wizard Trial.

While none of the Capture-the-Flag matches had been quite as…eventful as the one in which the British Minister's son had struck down one of their national heroes,

The students, regardless of which school they hailed from, all wanted to see their Champion prevail in the first Tournament to be held in two hundred years, though the populations of Durmstrang and Hogwarts were particularly vocal about their Champions' prospects.

Durmstrang because with Viktor Krum's performance in the Second Task, it seemed possible that for the first time in the entire history of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, their Champion would be the one to win Eternal Glory **.** AndHogwarts, well, because after everything they'd suffered in the past year, the thought of their Champion crushing the other schools - both Durmstrang, which had visited such indignities upon them during their time as _guests_ , _and_ Beauxbatons, which had somehow suborned the British Potions Champion – was something they looked forwards to dearly.

The Commanders, because when the Tournament was over and their guests returned to their schools of origin, there would be far fewer security headaches to worry about.

The Champions, well…that was obvious.

Those who had been selected by the Goblet of Fire to represent their schools hadn't been chosen on a whim. They had been chosen because of those who submitted their names, they were seen by the Goblet as the most capable, the most worthy, the most _hungry_ of their fellows.

Whatever their backgrounds, whatever their past accomplishments, there was something in them that yearned for recognition, to be acknowledged as the very best.

One was already a respected international athlete, whose skills as a Seeker had brought him to the finals of the World Cup, yet he sought redemption for having fallen short on that grand stage. Intellectually, perhaps it wasn't his fault, yet it was _his_ actions that had ended the game, eliminating whatever slim chance their might have been for his team to rally. If…if he had found the Snitch just a minute or two sooner, perhaps… Well, it was useless to think about the what-ifs, because his hidden shame and self-doubt could not be erased through speculation and reflection – only victory.

Victory so crushing, so overwhelming, that his name would be spoken of in tones of reverence and adulation by his admittedly very skillful peers.

One, the daughter of a distinguished diplomat, acknowledged for her grace and beauty by all those in her school – and country, could have had the pick of almost any position she desired. Whether it was a role with the Ministry, with the media, with some French entrepreneurial concern, her charisma and connections would have opened doors for her, allowing her to become whatever it was she wanted. Yet, there was no satisfaction in how easily such things came to her, much as there was no excitement in how easily she could compel most men to do whatever she wished with a coy look or smile.

She wanted people to look at her and see her true strength and potential, not merely her heritage or her outward appearances. She wanted people to know that she was more than just another (exceptionally) pretty face – that she had brains and brawn to go with beauty.

Becoming the winner of the first Tournament in two hundred years, while not giving her anything as grand as eternal glory (no matter what might be claimed), would show everyone what she was capable of – and so she wouldn't be satisfied by anything less.

And then there was the last of the Champions, who at first glance, wasn't much to write home about. Unlike the others, his fame did not extend much beyond the walls of his school, as he was not the Boy-Who-Lived, the youngest person to cast a Patronus in living memory, a master of the eastern arts, or even something like the apprentice (and protégé) of Britain's greatest adventurer.

Until the events of the past summer, his main claim to fame had been the friends he kept and the adventures they'd gone on together, as he'd otherwise appeared to be an unambitious, average-looking, middle scion of what had once been a poor family. Yet he there had always been a part of him that had yearned to be more, a part that had been overjoyed to receive a power all his own – well, half his own, anyway. He had learned to read the patterns of the world, to see how frail most were beneath the veneers of strength they used to hide their weaknesses, to see the lies most told themselves.

The weak telling themselves – and everyone else – that they were strong. The strong bound by the strictures of the weak. The wicked believing that they were just, the just that they were wicked.

Yet sometimes, lies could become truths, and truths could become lies, when one was pushed beyond to the very edge of one's limits. Sometimes people broke. Sometimes people bent. Sometimes people could _transcend._

' _Ah, brother of mine, if you could only see me now…'_

Once, people had spoken of the Weasley Twins in one breath, as if they were two parts of one being.

They no longer did now.

After all, _he_ had been chosen as a Champion. And his brother, unable to bear being passed over, had broken.

Still, he found it…amusing that in the trial to come, he alone of the Champions did not seek victory over all else. No – he sought only to test his capacity against his fellows – those others who had been selected by the Goblet.

And if that meant helping a competitor here and there, that she might achieve her full potential, so be it. There was nothing to be gained from defeating someone at anything less than their best, after all.

' _Perhaps Durmstrang's Council would agree, given the arrangements it has made for the final challenge…'_ the Stone Cutter mused as he made his way through a labyrinth hewn of ice, his golden gaze examining everything around him for any hint of what traps or spells or creatures he might have to face in these cold confines in less than a month.

Sadly, the barren walls were…not exactly forthcoming, and so he continued his wanderings.

' _The Cup will be somewhere in this maze, but…where?'_ That was the question – or one of several questions, at least. Among the others floating in his mind were where he – and the others – would be entering the maze from, the obstacles they could expect to face, and the conditions the trial would occur under.

The Council of the Host had not been particularly forthcoming about _those_ aspects of the upcoming trial, even if they had _oh-so-generously_ offered each Champion some time to run through the maze alone, so they wouldn't be completely unfamiliar with it when the time came.

' _What's their motive for that, I wonder?'_

From the briefing he'd been given, he knew that there were two stages to the final trial of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The first was an individual challenge, tailored for each Champion based on what had been seen of their skills, the contents of which would be kept from them until they faced it. The second was this maze – which they would be dropped into after completing their individual challenges.

A maze that was almost completely dark, and which would no doubt be full of obstacles, traps, and illusions.

…a maze that they, for whatever reason, had been allowed to explore to their heart's content, as if the Council believed that learning the layout of the space would be no benefit, that preparation was meaningless, or that they simply wanted to make sure each Champion was on an even footing.

' _Pity that the minder on duty confiscated my wand before allowing me access,'_ the boy noted to himself. _'Otherwise, I would be able to leave behind a few surprises of my own.'_

Then again, no doubt that was the reason _why_ his wand had been taken from him, so that he could not magic himself up some undue advantage.

' _Well, it's either that or they want to see if we're capable of tricks like wandless casting. I imagine that they have us under observation, after all…'_

And that anything he demonstrated that was…out of the ordinary…would be used to update their individualized challenge, which was why he explicitly had _not_ tapped into the power of the ring wore during these explorations.

His _satori's_ ability to read the patterns of the world was a different matter, as he didn't think that whatever observers they had would be able to note what he was doing, and he _did_ want to be the first to note if there were any spells being laid within the ice, or such.

…well, and he supposed it was useful stumble around like a blithering idiot in the utter lack of li…

The red-haired teen froze, realizing all at once that he'd missed something incredibly obvious. He'd been concentrating so intently on finding what was hidden that he'd missed that the maze was utterly devoid of light. It wasn't as if he had any trouble dealing with the dark since he'd bonded his _satori_ , yet he hadn't gone out of his way to show that to anyone.

Until now, it seemed.

'… _a clever trick,'_ he admitted to himself. ' _Using the_ satori _'s power has become so instinctual that I overlooked some of the advantages I lack without it. Like being able to_ "see" _in perfect darkness. Well…I wonder if my rivals were caught by this little trap as well?'_

* * *

In a room in the tallest tower of the Durmstrang Institute, the Commanders of the Host of Durmstrang were discussing just that, on top of the other business and considerations facing a Council that effectively governed an institution of learning in the frozen north.

"It is fortunate that there have been no attempted murders since the Yule Ball," the Commander of the Banner of Serpents noted coolly, with the dark-haired, dark-eyed boy seeming rather tired. "Even so, ensuring that tensions to not escalate into incidents has proven quite…taxing to my Shadows."

"It is unfortunate that such is the case, Radu, but I can see why it might be," another replied – this one, a

stunning young woman whose delicate features were framed with locks of long white hair, and whose figure never failed to draw men's eyes. The expression on her alabaster face, however, was troubled as she shook her head. "Some of the Hogwarts delegation still believes that we were responsible for the collapse of their Champion's brother, and many have proven…resistant to the work ethic we of Durmstrang espouse."

"They are spoiled by luxury, Sylvana," Radu commented, shaking his head as he considered the words of his fellow Commander. "Expecting others to wait on them hand and foot, even in the frozen north. They do not learn, nor do they wish to learn _discipline._ Or to accept the consequences of their actions."

"One can hardly blame them for being upset when one of theirs was slain after the Yule Ball," a new voice interjected. "Especially when they already believed that those who attended Durmstrang were dark wizards, one and all."

This was Alleria Theramore, who in the absence of Andreas Tørnquist and Rachelle Sondrol, served as Acting Commander of the Banner of Ravens.

"Had Britain won the honor of hosting the Tri-Wizard Tournament, we would have followed their rules. The least they can do is follow ours," Radu commented, his eyes turning to glance at the place on the council chamber's walls where ancient enchantments continually added to the Long Banner. "Instead, they have defiled our halls with violence time and time again, even as they claim to be the victims. One of their number – their Champion's brother – even brought shame upon Miss Delacour, and risked causing an international incident. And now they want more…"

One of the oldest rules of the institution was that those who visited the school, but did not bear loyalty to it, would need to have their memories altered when they left, so they could not recall its location accurately enough to use some unauthorized form of magical transport to reach the school at later date.

The French delegation knew this and accepted it as a condition of being allowed to attend, but the British – they wanted an exemption, something which had _never_ been granted in the history of the school, not to a single individual, and certainly not to hundreds of foreigners whose country was busy _raising an army._

"I understand your frustration, Radu, but surely you in turn, understand their discomfort with mind magic, following what happened to…the fools who had attempted to murder Krum and Delacour?" the Wolf Commander inquired, with her purple eyes flashing.

"I suppose you have a point, Sylvana," the Serpent Commander replied with a grimace. "I have little sympathy for terrorists myself, but I suppose that when those terrorists are sponsored by a rogue state, the citizens of that state may well think them heroes."

"Not all of the Hogwarts delegation is sympathetic to those would-be murderers," Alleria spoke, her dark hair turning white and her dark eyes a shade of violet. "Lieutenant Parkinson, for instance, has been very helpful over the past year, and the Hogwarts Champion has been relatively civil, even if his motivations and abilities are not well understood."

"He does seem rather more interested in the Dark Arts than his peers," Radu noted, shaking his head. Then he paused, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at the acting Commander of the Banner of Ravens. "And did you say _Lieutenant_ Parkinson? You appointed one of our guests as your Lieutenant?"

"She did help to quell the source of the rumors concerning Miss Delacour by capturing the creature responsible," Alleria replied mildly, looking very much like the Wolf Commander in that moment. "A shapeshifting creature which once belonged to the Hogwarts Champion's late brother."

"Well, as a metamorphmagus, you would be the most qualified of us to speak of shapechangers, sister,"

Sylvana allowed, she was intrigued despite herself. "Though I was unaware that Britain had any such creatures."

"It doesn't," Alleria supplied. "The creature apparently originates from Japan, which both the British Champion and his brother visited over the summer."

"…a familiar, then?" Radu questioned, looking rather thoughtful. "Curious. It _is_ no longer active at Durmstrang, I trust?"

"So, Lieutenant Parkinson has testified under Veritaserum," the Raven Commander noted. "She has apparently brought it back to Britain, where her…mentor had some use for it."

"Naturally," Sylvana commented, shaking her head. "I don't suppose she mentioned who her mentor was?"

"She did not," Alleria confirmed, "Though I suspect that whoever it is may be of a faction other than the current ruling party."

"Raven Commander for less than a month, and you've already uncovered a plot of some sort?" Radu inquired, seeming mildly intrigued. "Truly you are the Field Marshal's disciple – and Andreas', far more than you are Sylvana's sister."

"I've always said as much," the Raven Commander noted pleasantly. "In any case, her opinion on the matter of the memory alteration seems to be that we should simply refuse to return the students of Hogwarts should their Ministry not agree."

"…oh? Is that so?" Sylvana questioned, her eyes looking sharply at her seeming-twin. "She wishes us to…hold most of the British youth hostage, should they not comply?"

"Not in so many words, but yes," Commander Theramore replied. "She suggests that a show of force may render certain factions more willing to…negotiate."

"…I'm getting the feeling this is a little over my paygrade," Radu said, only half-jokingly, his smile fading after a few moments. "In all seriousness, we have enough to worry about with the final Task, and arranging for security for the Champions, since their counterparts went to the Isle of Thule."

"Heh. Speaking of the Tournament, I have to wonder, why didn't either of you place your names in the Goblet?" Alleria questioned. "Either of you would have made worthy Champions. Likely with a better showing than Viktor."

"Duty before pleasure, sister," Sylvana replied dryly. "Those of the Banner of Wolves selected me as their Commander, thus their concerns and wishes must come before mine."

"And Viktor wanted it more than you, I'm sure."

"Is that not obvious? The higher one rises, the more insecure one becomes, especially when that rise happens too quickly. Has a mistake been made? Has someone misgauged what they are capable of? People like my former Lieutenant worry about such things, because they rose too far, too fast, like Icarus."

"Hm," Radu noted. "For myself, I prefer working from the shadows. After all, it is so much easier to do what one wishes when one is unseen, so long as one understands the self. The fleeting glories of competitions and tournaments means little when weighted against what one does when no one watches."

"…just as the Champion of Hogwarts and his fellows have revealed quite a bit about what they are capable of, since we have kept our distance?"

"Just so. The final trial seems as if it will be rather interesting."

"One can only hope."

* * *

 **After-Action Report - Overnight Survival Exercise - 1995 World Potions Championship Preliminaries**

 _Clearance level: General_

 _Filed by Tomas Peverell, Representative, Centre for Alchemical Studies_

 **Summary** : Four teams successfully passed the Overnight Survival Exercise by successfully completing a potion and submitting it to the judging committee for review, though all but one team had at least one member incapacitated in a skirmish that occurred near dawn (hereafter, "OSE Skirmish"). Potions submitted were generally of high quality. One team failed to accomplish either the survival or brewing objective.

One Champion showed signs of exposure to [REDACTED], while another demonstrated symptoms of [REDACTED] and [REDACTED], confirming a long held hypothesis about the nature of the Isle of Thule.

Casualties include one death, and several injured, with details below:

Casualty Report:

 _Parambir Agarwal, Champion of Tamirsthana_ \- DECEASED - Cause of death determined to be "Killing Curse" (incantation _Avada Kedavra_ ) cast by Matou Shinji, during OSE Skirmish. Agarwal's wand (recovered) was examined, revealing recent usage of the Imperius Curse (incantation _Imperio_ ).

 _Mischa Stukov, Champion of Koldovstoretz_ \- Condition Critical, Prognosis Unfavorable - Recovered from the scene of OSE Skirmish by CAS Personnel, following cessation of hostilities, with (non-functional) rune-forged armor melted to flesh. Initial examination revealed amputation of arm and shoulder, and third-degree burns covering 98% of surface area. More in-depth examination revealed multiple compound fractures to limbs, muscle damage, ruptured kidney, liver, spleen, destroyed eye, and punctured lung. Application of healing magic and potions, including "Elixir of Restoration" had no effect on damaged tissues - surgical removal and use of external braces were necessary to stabilize patient. Presence of unknown "curse" suspected, with attempts to remove proving unsuccessful.

 _Rachelle Lestrange, Champion of Beauxbatons_ \- Condition Serious, Prognosis Unknown - Recovered from scene of OSE Skirmish by CAS Personnel, following cessation of hostilities. Following resuscitation from hypovolemic shock, and emergency treatment for exposure to [REDACTED], examination revealed damaged prana circulatory system, compromised thoracic vertebrae, punctured lungs, and tearing to the aorta. Patient hemorrhaging prana - has required regular transfusions to remain stable, but healing at rate superior to baseline witch. Appears to benefit from healing attempted on M.S.

 _Shinji Matou, Champion of Hogwarts -_ Condition Serious - Recovered from scene of OSE Skirmish by CAS Personnel, following cessation of hostilities. Right leg amputated by curse, right arm mangled and destroyed by transfigured beasts. Examination of body reveals recent exposure to [REDACTED] and [REDACTED], a heretofore unseen prana circulation system in eyes, and presence of a [REDACTED] spirit seal on upper left arm. Evidence of recent and extensive spiritual damage, and field treatment of such. British Press representative L.L. assisting with healing physical injuries.

 _Olu Akindele, Champion of Uagadou_ \- Condition Fair - Returned to village under own power following OSE Skirmish, before collapsing. Severe burns to arms due to electrical discharge. Exposure to rare venom treated. Broken ribs, skull fractures, bruising to abdominal cavity and throat treated.

Team Results:

 _Mischa Stukov & Parambir Agarwal_ \- No Potion submitted for evaluation - both team members incapacitated (Survival Exercise Failed)

 _Olu Akindele & Libatius Mueller_ \- Potion Submitted: Elixir of Clear Mind, renders drinker immune to mental or emotional interference (or pain) during period of effect - one team member incapacitated in OSE Skirmish.

 _Rachelle Lestrange & Rachelle Sondrol_ \- Potion Submitted: Tonic of Damage Diffusion, crafted with a combination of rare ingredients and odd spellcraft, allows drinker to partially displace effects of injuries into the future, allowing one to take more damage in a fight, so long as damaged received is not immediately fatal - one team member (field-testing potion) was incapacitated.

 _Ramona Ahgeak, Ka'aukai Kapule, & Matou Shinji_ \- Potion Submitted: Elixir of Restoration, reverses effects of Dark Magic, repairs spiritual damage - Sample of potion are being used to treat Matou Shinji, who was incapacitated in OSE Skirmish.

 _Ayaka Sajyou & Elesa Labelle_ \- Potion Submitted: Tonic of Preservation and [REDACTED], which can be used to preserve a drinker's life, even if they are on the very verge of death, or [REDACTED]

* * *

"…Master, about this report," a very tired Matou Shinji inquired after looking over the scroll that Aozaki Touko had presented him with shortly after he'd awakened, feeling like the moon had fallen from the sky and slammed into his body. He was very lucky to have survived, it seemed, even if he didn't feel very lucky at the moment, even with Luna holding onto…onto his surviving arm as she dozed beside his bed. "What's with all this…[REDACTED] business?"

"This report is meant for general dissemination, and part of it have been censored because the press does not have a high enough clearance to read such details," Aozaki Touko replied with some amusement, looking over her former apprentice. "Surely you know that much, Matou."

"…yes, but…"

"But what?"

"I'm not the press," Shinji pointed out, wincing as he looked over at his stump of an arm.

"No, you're not, it's true," Touko agreed, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag – to which Shinji only glared, since this was a hospital room! "So? Besides, your lover is in this very room, so this conversation isn't exactly private."

"…she's asleep."

"Is she?" the puppeteer inquired, looking at him evenly.

"…can I at least know about my condition?" the boy asked with some frustration. "I mean…a prana circulatory system in my eyes? A [REDACTED] spirit seal? What the hell is there a spirit seal on me anyway?"

"Keeping you alive after you did something as foolish as to summon a heroic spirit into your body," the puppeteer replied after a moment, with Shinji freezing. "Do you really need to know more than that?"

"And…who…who could have…?"

"Why do you think you need to know?"

"It' _s_ my body, Master. Please I…who sealed me?" He grimaced. "Or at least…who saved my life? I need to know so I can repay them for what they did."

There was silence, before the red-haired puppeteer scoffed.

"You should worry more about how you are going to pay me for new limbs," the woman noted, taking another puff of her cigarette as Shinji winced once more. "That is, if you _want_ new limbs. Still, I suppose a hint wouldn't hurt. I don't know who it was exactly, but I do know the organization the design comes from."

"Oh?"

"The Illuminati."


	85. Preparations, Reparations

_**Matou Shinji and the Broken Chains**_

A Harry Potter / Fate Stay Night Story

Disclaimer: Though I wish it were otherwise, I do not own or in any way, shape or form hold a legal or moral claim to elements of either the Nasuverse, the Potterverse, or other works I may reference in the course of this story.

Summary: It is a time of seeming peace, as the British Ministry prepares to host the Quidditch World Cup - the greatest sporting event in the Wizarding World. But unbeknownst to them, a grand army of Giants and Werewolves is gathering in Eastern Europe,

under the leadership of the vicious Fenrir Greyback, their sole objective - revenge. In the East, Matou Shinji and his comrades have arrived at the hidden bastion of Mahoutokoro to hone their skills, given that they are likely to become Champions of the two Tournaments this year – the Tri-Wizard and the Potions. And if their struggle against the Acromantulae has shown them anything, it is that only through power can they gain victory - and only through victory can their chains be broken.

* * *

 **Chapter 84.** _Preparations, Reparations_

"The Illuminati?" Shinji echoed, his lips curving into a frown. It made a degree of sense, considering that the pattern on his arm that sealed off his command spells was effectively a pyramid inscribed with an eye, and Sokaris had once commented on the Ourea logo – a mountain inscribed with an eye – used iconography associated with organizations that opposed the Templar Order.

Organizations such as the Illuminati, which according to her, was based in North America, or the Order of Assassins, which operated out of the Middle East.

"I trust your patron has informed you of them?" the red-haired puppeteer inquired dryly.

"…you could say that, yes," the boy noted, closing his eyes briefly. "In that case, I think I have an idea who it was."

There were only two Champions from North America, after all: Ramona Ahgeak of Qausuittuq and Elesa Labelle of Ilvermorny – and only one of them had sun-bright hair and eyes the color of the sky.

But that raised questions of its own.

Questions like how and why.

How had a Champion just a little older than he had the knowledge and skill to seal away a Heroic Spirit? Not to mention, healing him?

' _Well, Ramona seems to have some influence over spirits and elements, so perhaps that's a North American specialty, much as Europe seems to like using wands.'_

Which still left the question of why.

' _She could have just left me to die down there. No one would have known, and it would have eliminated some of her competition.'_

…unless she'd gotten something out of saving him?

Perhaps Miss Labelle had an arrangement with the other Champion from North America, and had spared him because he was Ramona's teammate? Or…

' _Could_ that _be what happened to the_ Book of Potions _?'_ he wondered. Had the American Champion taken it in exchange for saving his life? He suspected he wouldn't know for sure unless she told him one way or the other, and somehow, he didn't think pressing too hard on that particular issue would be wise. _'Not that it would be a good idea to press a member of the Illuminati too hard in general…'_

If they were anything like Lockhart, they'd either dissemble (if he was lucky), or perhaps make arrangements for eliminating him.

'… _yeah, no. The spirit seal on my arm is what is keeping me alive,'_ Shinji mused. _'And I'm sure if I came off as threatening, it would be the easiest thing in the world to undo it.'_

He had to admit – it was tempting to just be straightforward for once, to lay his cards on the table, to reveal the seal on his arm and say that he knew it was her, as well as who she worked for, and how, as someone carrying out an assignment from Sokaris, he was effectively an agent of Atlas, they surely had some common interests.

' _But I also know that such a thing would end in disaster, since I have no proof that I am working for Sokaris.'_

He doubted that Aozaki Touko would vouch for him, given that her cover was that she was one of the CAS Representatives sent to the island for the competition.

' _And well, if I'm wrong about it being Elesa, and it was someone else…'_

…then revealing too much could be dangerous in a very different way, since the last time he had presumed on the name of Atlas, Sokaris hadn't liked that very much.

' _Putting that aside for now…'_

"Master, how would you say I've done so far?" Shinji asked, glancing over at the puppeteer he had once apprenticed under. "As a Champion, I mean. Just a short summary is fine."

"As a Champion?" Aozaki Touko questioned. "Adequate."

The boy winced.

"…not _that_ short, please," he requested. "A bit more detail. If you don't mind, that is."

The red-haired magus glanced at him, taking a long drag of her cigarette.

"You survived so far, brat," she answered after about a minute. "Which itself is something of an achievement, considering the situations you get into." She shook her head, harrumphing. "Though if you _had_ died from something as trivial as alcohol poisoning, I would have described you to my current apprentice as a disgrace."

"...well, you wouldn't be wrong about that," Shinji conceded, much as it hurt to do so. What had he been thinking to join the male champions at some kind of 'manly picnic' the night before the survival exercise, without even stopping to consider such a thing might have consisted of? Why had he allowed himself to drink to excess like that, without any semblance of self-control, much like Tohsaka had, once…?

"As long as you realize that, you can improve, Matou."

"I've made…a lot of mistakes," he mused aloud. "Hurt people…" he whispered, glancing at Luna's sleeping form. "…who don't really deserve it. Who have done nothing but be there for me."

"All true," the puppeteer acknowledged. "Your lover is troubled over your…entanglement with Miss Lestrange, even if she is too considerate of your feelings to say so."

"My…entanglement?" Shinji echoed, his cheeks burning as he said the words. "T-there's no such thing!"

"Despite how you spent most of your waking moments with the French Champion?" Aozaki Touko questioned. "Despite how, when you were falling to your doom, the one you thought of was her? And when the French Champion was in danger, you abandoned your team for her sake?"

"Uh…"

When his Master put it that way, his protestations did seem to ring just a bit hollow.

"Your statements to the press were likewise misleading," the red-haired magus continued. "I am aware of who you were referring to, but Miss Lovegood is not…is she?"

"…no," Shinji admitted, closing his eyes. "She isn't."

"What did she think of your ambition of being worthy of the greatest Alchemist in the world, I wonder, given the French Champion had declared that becoming such an Alchemist was her goal?"

"…ah."

"As for your performance in this recent exercise…"

"Yes, Master?"

Aozaki Touko took a long drag on her cigarette, with Shinji noting how the lit end glowed slightly as she did.

"Your team managed to create an interesting potion," the puppeteer noted. "Perhaps the most promising of the lot, aside from the Tonic that Sajyou and Labelle brewed." She paused for a moment, eyeing the boy speculatively. "You were the one who discovered the key ingredients?

"I…guess so?" Shinji voiced. "I didn't really participate in the brewing, so I don't know what was important."

"Regardless, you provided Niffler's Fancy and Thaumatagoria, correct?"

"…yes, though I don't remember how I found the latter," Shinji admitted. "I hear it's supposed to be one of the rarest plants in the magical world, though?"

"Not as rare as the herb which grants immortality, but few things are," the magus said agreeably. "Your team should be commended. Our testing has found that the potion you created together can even reverse the effects of curses such as lycanthropy."

"What." Shinji's voice was flat with shock. "But…I thought. Something like that…"

"Unlike the water of life, it will not repair physical damage or disease," Aozaki Touko pointed out. "It is nearly as effective in removing curses and healing spiritual damage."

"…when you say testing, who…"

"It was convenient that the skirmish provided us with a number of subjects, all of which had signed waivers of liability for death or injury," the puppeteer mentioned.

"…you tested it on me. And the others."

"Yes. Under normal circumstances, we would have assessed their effects on animals first, but you were an ideal test case for the Elixir of Restoration, as well as the Tonic of Preservation…"

"Tonic of Preservation…" Shinji echoed. "Doesn't unicorn blood do largely the same thing?" He thought he remembered something like that from his first year at Hogwarts, though he supposed he could have been mistaken.

"It does," the red-haired magus remarked. "Save for the fact that unicorn blood also inflicts a terrible curse on the drinker."

"Then, Sajyou-san…"

"She and her partner created an equivalent with other ingredients."

"It has some other effect though, doesn't it?" Shinji questioned. "Hence the [REDACTED]." He frowned. "It isn't…harmful, is it?"

"No, it isn't, though I do not believe it would be wise to share the totality of what it does, even to you," his former Master noted.

"Ah…" The boy sighed. "I supposed I should have expected that." He hesitated for a moment, thinking about what else he might want to know. "How about…what I did during the skirmish?"

"I understand that you lacked access to most of your abilities in that encounter, correct?"

"Well, yes."

"Given that, you performed adequately. After all, you survived, while the one who attempted to enthrall you…did not."

Shinji swallowed.

"Right. There's not going to be any consequences from that, are there? Legally, I mean." According to Britain, the use of the Killing Curse was Unforgiveable, after all…at least when not being used by government sanctioned personnel such as Aurors or members of the army.

"This isle is not British territory, and is therefore not subject to the laws of Britain," was the response. "In as much as any organization is in charge, it is the Centre for Alchemical Studies, and we enforce no such rules during the competition, when the Champions are out in the wild."

"Ah, so I'm not going to be arrested for killing the Indian Champion then?"

"Not by anyone on the island," the puppeteer confirmed. "What happens when you return from the Championship is not under our control."

"Ah."

"…I see." Shinji sighed. "Can I ask something?"

"You already have, but you may ask something else."

"The prana circulation system in my eyes? You never did say what that was."

"Some variety of Mystic Eyes," the woman related. "I do not know which, save that it is not one of the usual three."

"Huh. Not binding, charm or whisper, eh?"

"Nor anything else related to compulsion, as I do not sense such things at work," the red-haired magus confirmed. "It is likely related to perception. Speaking of which…do you see anything strange in your vision?"

Shinji shook his head.

"What do you mean, strange?"

"Lines that are oddly colored? Cracks in the world? Auras around people? Is your vision altered in some way?"

"…no."

"Perhaps something like Fairy Eye then," Touko muttered to herself. "A form of Mystic Eye that allows you to perceive and adapt to information your brain could not otherwise process."

"…like high speed movements, or something?" Shinji mused aloud.

"Things like that, yes," the magus answered. "Though just because you can see it, doesn't mean your body can keep up."

"…yeah. That much I'm aware of."

"Good."

"I had another question, if you don't mind."

"Speak."

"I heard that aside from a golden cauldron and job opportunities for those who proved themselves the best, there were other things a Champion could earn on this isle…? Even if we didn't do well enough to end up on the podium?"

"In all prior years, the Champions which survive the Competition and manage to brew something sufficiently advanced have been granted certification as a Potioneer by the Centre for Alchemical Studies," the puppeteer explained. "This certification is recognized by ICW member nations as satisfying any Potions subject tests graduates may be required to take. Other certifications may be issued, depending on one's demonstrated skills."

"Ah."

"You also, either individually or jointly, retain control over your potion's recipe. Some choose to share what they create with their sponsoring nation, as a way to repay the aid they received, but it is in no way required…"

"I see. So, the Centre doesn't keep a copy?"

"We do, but this information is not shared without permission," the puppeteer noted.

"I see." Shinji sighed, shaking his head. "I have a lot to think about."

"You do, indeed," the red-haired magus replied. "Think carefully about them. And don't forget to consider the matter of limbs. Unless, of course, you would rather bow out of the competition here?"

"No!" the boy exclaimed. "I mean, no, I don't want to bow out." He frowned. "I don't exactly have much in the way of money left either though. Unless you want my share of Fashion House LeShin?"

"Not particularly." Both parties were quiet for a moment, before the puppeteer thought of something. "I believe your patron wished for you to explore the island, yes?"

"Yes…?"

"Given the nature of this island, I think an interesting artifact will be sufficient as payment, if you can find one and retrieve it for me," the woman suggested. "Should you fail…we will discuss alternatives. Is this acceptable?"

Shinji nodded.

"That's…more generous than I expected," he noted. "Thank you." Then he frowned. "You wouldn't be willing to repair the enchanted underlayer of my armor, would you?" he asked, figuring it couldn't hurt to ask.

"I don't have anything else I'm interested in right now," the puppeteer replied. "But if you are willing to sign a geass contract promising to compensate me in the future, either with services, items, or monies equivalent to the cost of repairs…?"

Shinji hesitated for almost a minute, before finally nodding.

"…fine," he said. "I trust you, Master."

"That is a mistake, Matou," the red-haired woman said, her eyes widening slightly in surprise that he had agreed. "Even so, I suppose it would be unkind to make you suffer too badly. I will have limbs for you by the middle of the week."

"That's quicker than I expected."

"I just happened to have a few in storage. Thankfully, they should work with some…adjustments."

"…thank you."

"What for?" Aozaki Touko questioned, puffing on her cigarette. "You're the one paying me."

"But without you, I'd never walk again."

"So, you do have manners after all. Much unlike my current apprentice."

* * *

Over the next few days in the infirmary, Matou Shinji worked on rebuilding his stash of _ofuda,_ most of which had been used up in the course of the overnight survival exercise. His missing arm – and the absence of Zelkova - made things more difficult, but Luna was there, watching over him, helping him to grab things or push him around as needed.

' _To think that the CAS kept some magic carpets around for people who were injured…'_

He learned that she had been at his bedside since he was brought in from the field, assisting the healers with his case by pouring yang energy into him to help him recover.

' _I guess I owe you again,'_ he thought to himself. Which was why he had taught her some of the basics of how to make _ofuda_ , so she would have a more versatile skillset that blended Eastern and Western arts. He'd have to do something nice for her when all this was said and done…

Yet, he had other debts that he couldn't simply let stand either, and so, steeling his courage, he made arrangements to meet with three of the loveliest young women on the isle: Elesa Labelle, Ramona Ahgeak, and Rachelle Lestrange – all of which he owed, or had obligations to in one form or another.

To his relief, all of them agreed to at least hear him out, with Miss Labelle arranging to meet him in one of the CAS Conference rooms, Miss Ahgeak agreeing to meeting him on the wall of the village, and Miss Lestrange preferring the privacy of her room.

'… _I hope Lestrange is doing alright. She was in the infirmary longer than I was, due to…complications.'_

First though, he'd have to meet with Elesa Labelle, an encounter he hoped wouldn't go too badly.

' _Best to start off slow. Maybe with something small…'_

* * *

So that was what he did, starting by thanking her for the help she'd given him the night before the Overnight Survival Exercise, among other things.

"I don't recall doing more than what any decent person would do when you...crashed the gathering at the Centre," Elesa noted quietly. "Though I am surprised you remember it, as inebriated as you were that night."

"...I didn't, actually, if I'm going to be honest," Shinji admitted, shaking his head. "Luna and…my familiar, told me about it the next morning. Still, I believe in paying my debts, even if I don't remember what I'm indebted to someone for."

The blonde chuckled.

"That's very honest of you," she commented wryly. "There aren't many people like that these days. Even among the Champions on the isle."

Shinji just looked down.

"I have my share of faults. I just try make up for them how I can," he said, shaking his head. "Speaking of which..."

"Yes?"

' _Well, now or never…'_

"...I'm not entirely sure of it, but I think I owe you for something else," Shinji stated, his hand brushing against the place on his remaining arm where the glowing spirit seal was hidden with a sleeve. "I...I don't entirely remember what happened the night of the survival exercise, but during my exploration of the island, I ran into something. Something very, very dangerous, since it put Zelkova out of commission, destroyed my armor and...did...a lot of other things to me. I do remember – I _think_ I remember – your face though. Or at least...I remember someone with sun-bright hair and eyes the color of the sky." He smiled wryly. "I don't think anyone else quite fits that description among the Champions."

Silence fell, as Elesa looked at the boy thoughtfully.

"...you _are_ full of surprises, Mister Matou," she replied with some amusement. "And here, I hadn't thought you'd remember me at all, as badly off as you were."

"Ah, so it _was_ you," Shinji said with a wan smile. "I guess...I owe you my life then?" he hazarded, laughing powerlessly. "I never thought – I didn't think you'd be the adventuring type, but if you found me...I guess you had to have been. And well, if you can keep up with Sajyou-senpai..."

Frankly, he didn't really know what to think of her, since aside from that odd dream he'd had where he'd fought a White Chimera alongside her, since in public, she acted like a model, an American Idol, and nothing else – quite at odds with the young woman who studied in the archives at night when no one else was around...who hid what she could do.

 _'Perhaps even who she is.'_

"You don't think that was merely a case of the weakest being paired with the strongest?" the young woman inquired. "With Sajyou going out of her way to make sure I can keep up."

"First, I know Sajyou-senpai better than that," the boy countered with a wry smile. He'd traveled and trained with her enough to know that the raven-haired Champion of _Mahoutokoro_ had little patience for incompetence. "Second…I think the judges cannot see what you do not show them. They're...limited, like the rest of us."

"An interesting set of observations," Elesa said diplomatically. "Hypothetically, let us say that you do owe me your life. What of it?"

"...well, if you plan on continuing to explore the island during the competition itself, I'm prepared to lend you my aid for as long as you wish it," the boy stated bluntly, looking her in the eye. Frankly, it was he who needed to explore the hidden areas of the isle, both for Sokaris' sake, as well as to find an artifact, but it was probably best to couch his offer as a favor to the American.

Especially if she was part of the Illuminati.

"You mean, you'll lend me your aid so as what I'm doing doesn't somehow cause harm to people like Rachelle Lestrange?" the young woman teased, with Shinji's cheeks growing hot for some strange reason.

"W-why would it?" Shinji asked, looking away.

"...as I said, you're an honest sort, which is not at all what I expected," the blonde commented, chuckling. "Are you certain this is what you want to do, though? I'm sure you could better spend the time you use helping me to find ingredients for a potion of your own, I'm sure. I'm told you found Thaumatagoria, after all!"

"...was that really me?" the boy asked. "I…don't really remember how I found it. Just that it was there." He took a deep breath. "And...as I said, I pay my debts."

"If that is your wish, I suppose I don't mind indulging your sense of honor," the young woman answers, taking a small scroll from her pouch and putting in front of him. "If you could just put down on paper what you said about aiding me, I'd appreciate it. Always good to have things in writing, right?"

Shinji blinked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the scroll with a dawning sense of recognition.

 _'...wait. Isn't this...a self-geass scroll?'_

Why would a witch have something like this?

' _Not that it's any of my business.'_

He considered trying to get out of signing, but he didn't think that would go over very well. If she needed his offer in writing so she would feel more comfortable, then so be it. She'd saved his life, after all.

' _Right. If she wanted me dead, I'd already be dead. It's no use worrying about this stuff now.'_

Elesa looked on as Shinji filled out the scroll, writing on it exactly what he had said: that during the competition proper, he would lend her his aid in exploring the island, as long as she might wish it, without any other qualification or condition. The boy did note - verbally - that he would need to retrieve an artifact as the price for his new limbs, but as a gesture of good faith, said that he would leave it to her to determine if he had helped enough to deserve it.

"So, you decided a show of trust, was in order, did you?" she inquired mildly.

"You didn't have to save me," Shinji replied quietly. "Not after whatever happened to me when I was exploring the island. But you did, and you did so freely, as far as I'm aware." Whatever he suspected, he didn't know for sure, and it would be the height of foolishness to press things now. "That's why I'm not putting any conditions on the aid I'm offering to you – because you didn't put any conditions on the aid you gave to me."

He signed the statement and slid it over to the American Champion, who took it, examining it for any inconvenient loopholes, and satisfied that there were none, pocketed the item.

"As I said, you are a very honest individual," Elesa noted. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a breath, as her expression shifted into something more serious - quite unlike the mask of the model she usually wore. "Tell me, Matou, how much do you know about this island?"

"I know it's a remnant from the Age of Gods," Shinji replied evenly, noting that the woman's expression did not change. "I trust you know what that is."

"Naturally."

Shinji felt a chill go down his spine at the reply.

He'd suspected, but to have confirmation...

"There's something under this island...I think?" he continued, though with his memory being what it was…

"Are you asking me or telling me?" the blonde questioned, somewhat amused.

"A little of both. I remember something about tunnels. And something about a song, though I don't remember much about where it came from." He pressed his lips together as he tried to concentrate. Tried to reach out into the fog of the past. "The center – the structure in the center – something about it…it's important."

"You're not wrong," Elesa admitted, with the young woman allowing a hint of laughter to escape her lips for a moment, before she sobered. "There are many forgotten things on this isle. Some harmless, and some...nowhere close to it."

"You mean, like nuckelavee?" Shinji asked. "My team fought one during the preliminaries."

He sketched out briefly how that had gone, and how even his defensive abilities had been hard-pressed to keep up with what it could do.

"Not quite. Those aren't exclusively found here," the blonde pointed out. "Though they are fairly rare. I speak of older things. Hidden things. Things like the being you ran into, before I discovered you."

White hot pain lanced through Shinji's mind as _something_ brushed against the forefront of his mind, before rapidly receding, with the boy finding that he was on the floor, having fallen from his hovering carpet, his chest rising and falling as he hyperventilated, his mouth open in a silent scream as his body shivered and shook and _trembled._

"...what...what was...?" he asked breathlessly, once he could think again, accepting a hand as she helped him onto his floating carpet. He tried to recall what had pressed at his memories, what had driven him to this, but he couldn't, as if his mind and body were keeping the knowledge from him, lest it destroy him utterly.

"...I don't think it would be wise to discuss the matter further," the American champion noted. "You were fortunate to have survived what you experienced, but the effects have not vanished fully, despite my best efforts, and the potion your teammates devised."

"...I see," Shinji said distantly. "Are there...are there more things like...whatever it was?"

"Perhaps. I doubt whatever we will face will be of the same degree of threat, however," Elesa replied candidly. "From the records I have studied, there will certainly be beasts. Perhaps some undead. Perhaps worse. But nothing like...that."

"...how about..." Shinji paused, as a figment of a dream came to him. "What about something like a chimera?"

"Deeper down, yes," the blonde admitted, looking over him critically. "Though I note you will have a difficult time facing such without your familiar."

' _Heh…so she can see even that.'_

"...he's ok. I'm sure of it. He's just...recovering, after..." the boy trailed off, frustrated. "After what happened," he said finally.

"Will he recover by the time of the competition?" Elesa questioned, raising a slim eyebrow.

"...I don't know. The last time something like this happened, I was hit by the Killing Curse while fused." The boy sighed, tightening his jaw. "This time I...I hope he's alright."

"If you would like, I could assess his condition," the American said after some seconds had passed. "I would need something linked to him, however."

Shinji considered the offer for some moments, before withdrawing the wand from its holster.

"...you're not surprised that I didn't die when hit by the Killing Curse."

"You were fused, thus what was killed was the union, not the individual parts," the young woman noted diffidently. "Even if it likely caused you a great deal of spiritual trauma."

"You know, I really shouldn't be surprised you know that," the boy grunted, shaking his hea. "But I still am."

"Good," the American Champion replied with a cheerful smile. "It means my usual act is working."

Shinji froze.

"...you're _admitting_ it's an act?" he asked, finally.

"Well, why not? You signed an agreement to lend me your aid during the competition," Elesa replied. "I doubt you'll be telling everyone else what I can do, since I do believe that would constitute a breach of contract."

"...true enough," he said, handing over his living wand. "If you could, then..."

A golden glow suffused Elesa's hands as the blonde took the item, humming lightly as she ran her fingers over it.

She said something – he couldn't tell what – and the glow faded, with her handing the wand back.

"Your assessment was about right. Your familiar suffered a good deal of spiritual damage, but is alive," the young woman reported, explaining what she had found. "I've done what I can to accelerate the healing, though repairing that sort of thing is not my specialty."

"How soon will he recover?"

"Likely in a few days. At the very latest, by the first day we are out on the field."

"...thank goodness."

"Well, you agreed to help me, so I may as well ensure that your condition is such that you can actually be of help," the American Champion noted. "Speaking of which, is there anything else I can do for you at the moment, or is that about it for now?"

"…well, I did lose my wyvernhide robes," the boy admitted. "They were the outermost layer of my protections, and without them, I'm a lot more vulnerable. Especially if I'm not fused."

"I can see how that would be disadvantageous, yes."

"Do you think you could lend me something to replace them?" he wondered aloud. "I'm not expecting anything, just…if you can, it would help me help you."

Elesa tilted her head, looking at the boy thoughtfully.

"Maybe," she replied. "I'd have to look. For obvious reasons, I don't normally carry around things sized for young boys."

"…fair enough. Figured it couldn't hurt to ask."

With that, the two said a few other pleasantries, before shaking hands and parting, each to business of their own.

* * *

Shinji only managed to catch up to Ramona Ahgeak later, halfway through the week allotted for the Champions to rest and recover. This time, he was at least moving under his own power, even if he was forced to use his wand-staff as a walking stick, as his nerves weren't quite used to the new leg that Touko had installed.

'… _it is really, really sensitive.'_

Not that he was going to complain about that, but…it made things difficult when the slightest movements made cloth brush against skin, with the sensation almost overwhelming – though whether it was pleasurable or painful he couldn't quite tell.

' _I also shouldn't have agreed to meet on the wall.'_

At the time, it had seemed the best choice, since the view encompassed much of the area where the skirmish had taken place, so…

' _Huh. I'm up here already,'_ he noted, thinking that the stairs hadn't seemed so bad this time. _'…and of course, she's already here.'_

His former teammate had her back to him as she looked out upon the moonlit forest, her hair wafting in the wind. Her form and figure seemed silver in the moonlight, and she herself seemed…light and ethereal.

"Hey," he said in greeting, unable to think of what else to say, for all that he'd agonized over the trouble he'd likely given her.

"Hey yourself," the young woman replied, turning to look at him, and gesturing for him to stand beside her.

Not one to refuse such an invitation, the boy did so.

"So…how have you been?" he hazarded

"Thanks for asking," Ramona commented quietly, turning back to looking out at the moonlit forest. "If I'm honest, I'm a little annoyed about the press the picture of 'me' killing Parambir has gotten, but there's nothing for it now. Besides, I can't be too angry with you, given what you've already suffered, though at least you've found a way to recover your lost limbs."

"...replace, rather than recover, but close enough," Shinji sighed, shaking his head, as something like a chuckle escaped his lips before fading away into an uneasy silence. "You know, that evening when we all set out feels so long ago," he offered.

"It does, doesn't it?" the young woman asked distantly. "It was only a few days, but even so..."

Once more, silence fell.

"I'm sorry, by the way," the boy said at last, unable to bear how awkward and heavy the tension was.

"What for?" his companion asked.

"For the photo of 'you' killing the Indian Champion, and the troubles it might cause you," Shinji elaborated. "I...I was too worried about Lestrange to keep a level head, and...and..." He'd rushed in without thinking, and had almost been made to do something terrible. "Sorry."

"Heh." Ramona seemed somewhat amused by his confession. "It's alright, Matou. Like I said, I am a little annoyed, but I suppose I can't blame you too much for rushing off to try and save the girl you love."

The air went out of Shinji's chest with a dull _woosh_ , with that sound that escaped his lips being little different from that if the Champion of Qausuittuq had punched him.

"I-it's, uh, I, wha?" he said, his mouth working up and down, with odd, half-intelligible noises emanating from it. "I, I, I, I, its not. I, I mean, I don't..."

Ramona sighed and shook her head.

"Don't bother denying it," she quipped, while laughing a bit at his red-faced stammering. "You may not want to admit it, but between what you said in your interviews, how you rushed to her side the moment you saw it was Lestrange in danger, and how you broke out of the Imperius because of her, I think it's kind of obvious for anyone with eyes to see. It's cute, really, how hard you've fallen, and how devoted you are. What was it the French press call you? The modern Lancelot? Would that make her your Guinevere then?"

"Uh..."

"Did I break you just now?" Ramona half-joked, finding this whole thing rather funny. "Well, I'm a bit of a romantic, so as I said, I can't be too upset at you."

There was another prolonged silence, this time as Shinji tried to put the pieces of himself back together and not...not go beet red, or stammer, or such again.

"...even so, I wanted to offer something to make amends," he said quietly, looking off at the moon in the distance. "A potion I made before we came here. It...it was going to be my trump card, but..."

"Matou, let me stop you right there," Ramona interrupted. "Whatever else we are, we are still competitors. It wouldn't feel right for me to simply take what you had created for myself, especially since whatever harm you did, you mostly made up for by finding those rare ingredients."

Shinji looked over at her, startled by the refusal.

"We made a good team, I think," the young woman reflected. "We worked together pretty well, defeated...well, not a nameless evil, but a pretty dire threat, and created a potion that is pretty damn close to legendary. An Elixir that can erase the effects of dark magic, that can dispel curses. Such a thing has never been seen before, short of the water of life."

"...well, that's true," Shinji allowed, shaking his head as he thought of something. "Could I offer you one of my flow-walking ofuda then? Just in case you happen to need me for something?"

The woman chuckled.

" I'll take the ofuda you offer, though I don't think I'll make much use of it, to be frank," Ramona said wryly. "You seem to have your own goals for the competition, after all. Still, who knows. With Stukov likely to hold a grudge, perhaps I will need help..."

"...Stukov?"

When he was released, the Russian champion had still been in the infirmary in critical condition.

"I did not think a mere carrier would be so resilient, but..." he heard Ramona mutter, words that caught his attention.

"Carrier?" he echoed. _'Carrier of what?'_

"Well, never mind that for now," Ramona noted, shaking her head as she held out her hand. "It's been...not entirely a privilege, or a pleasure, but a singular experience working with you, Matou."

"Likewise."

They shook hands.

"Best of luck," she said. "Maybe if you come across any rare ingredients, you could share some with me?"

"Assuming I haven't used up all my luck living through the preliminaries."

"Heh. Well, let's hope not."

The two stood together for a while, under the moon, before each went their own way, to do what it was each had to do.

* * *

After handling the two other talks, he thought that speaking with Lestrange would be easier. And yet…sitting beside her on the balcony of her room, he could see how delicate she was after her injury, her form seeming rather frail as she looked at the world below.

She seemed…weary in a way he cannot describe, a far cry from the alluring seductress he first encountered on the island and studied with. And yet, she was no less lovely for it, with part of him yearning to take her in his arms, to protect her from the world and everything that could harm her, to reassure her that everything would be fine. That part of him – that mad, unreasoning bit of his body – even thought that he might stand with her against the very world itself if she desired it – even if he knew, deep inside of him, that she neither wanted, nor needed such things.

It shook him, realizing his thoughts – his feelings.

 _'I'm...I'm just confused. Because she looks like Luna.'_

Or so he told himself, though whether this was truly the case, or just a lie he told himself, he didn't know. And perhaps, he didn't want to know, as he sat here, listening to her.

"I am...vell enough," she said softly, her voice musical in the way the French often seemed. "Ze pain is not so bad. At least I am alive, oui?"

Shinji felt his heart ache at her reply, as he could tell she wasn't quite recovered. She'd only been released that morning, after all, given the complications from exposure to…something he wasn't cleared to know about.

"I guess that's true," the boy allowed, his body sagging as he leaned back. "Still...I wish I could have done more."

"You did vat you could."

"Did I?" Shinji asked, a slight edge to his voice. "I wonder about that." He winced, recalling how he'd been put under the Imperius. How he'd been ordered to kill Lestrange. How…how he had almost…. "I...you know, I almost..."

"Vat 'appened, 'appened, Monsieur le Matou," the petite blonde murmured expressionlessly. "I cannot complain overmuch. I zid not suffer as much as Stukov, after all."

"…true," the boy admitted, shaking his head. "I still I wish you hadn't had to suffer at all, though."

"C'est la vie," Lestrange quipped, her lips tugging up into something like a smile for a brief moment – or so Shinji thought, though it vanished so quickly, he wondered if he'd only imagined it.

To Shinji, that fleeting expression was beautiful, if tragic, and he found that he couldn't quite look away – and so was caught looking by a pair of knowing silver eyes.

"...I-I suppose so," he murmured, looking away as if burned. "Still, if things are going to be like that, it makes me realize just how outmatched I am." He sighed. "Winning – any chance of winning – seems like a dream now."

Especially since he no longer had the _Book of Potions_ – or the spirit within – to aid him.

' _I didn't appreciate Budge when I had him at my disposal. Only now that he's gone do I realize how fortunate I was to have his aid.'_

Budge had been a master potioneer, after all, whereas he was…a dilettante at best.

"Even so, zat is vy you are 'ere, on zis island, non?" Rachelle questioned, peering at the boy. "To vin?"

"Not...entirely," the boy admitted after several heartbeats, as he managed to tear his eyes from hers.

"Oh?"

"My...patron, the person who wanted me to become a Champion, is more interested in me exploring the island and learning its secrets than anything else," the boy stated, with a sigh. "Even winning – if winning is even possible for someone like me."

"Ah."

"...you, though, you have a good chance of winning, I think," he continued, daring to glance over at her once more. "And if you do, I think my...patron would like to meet you." He took a deep breath. "So I...I want to help you win, however I can."

"You wish to 'elp me win, Monsieur le Matou?" she asked quietly, seeming surprised for once. "Zat...is an 'onor I—"

"Don't say you don't deserve it," the boy said heatedly. "You…you do."

The two were silent for some time, as the petite blonde took in the weight of his emotions with a small sigh.

"Perhaps I can trust your words, if you say zis so earnestly." She paused, raising an eyebrow as she turned to look at him. "Zis patron of yours...you speak of ze Eltnam."

"...yes."

"I see," she notes, closing her eyes and smiling, a serene smile that tugged at the boy's heart. "Zen...what aid can you provide?"

She listened patiently as Shinji proceeded to describe what he was capable of, including the various potions he had access to, the _ofuda_ he could create, the knowledge he had of Eastern potions and herblore, his knowledge of the various sites on the isle, and other such.

"During the competition itself, I will be..." he hesitated, but plunged onwards, "I will be _working_ with the American Champion to explore some of the more dangerous parts of the island," he admitted quietly. "She saved my life so I...am, ah, honor-bound to repay the debt. Even so, I want to help you in whatever way I can though, even if I can't do so in person."

"Vy?"

"Hm?"

"Vy do all zis, for me?"

Shinji chuckled, but it was a warm sound.

"That's easy," he murmured, with something like a smile. "It's because I..." he trailed off, his face somewhat red. "Because my patron would wish it of me," he amended after some seconds. "I...heh...I owe her more than I can say. Everything that I am now – every bit of worth that I might seem to have. Everything I have done – I have managed because of her. Because of the guidance and faith of the last of the Eltnam."

"I...see," Lestrange noted, narrowing her eyes. "Even so, to give up your chance at victory..."

"To be honest, I never really had much of a chance to begin with," Shinji said candidly. What chance he did have had been because of the _Book of Potions_ , and that was now lost to him. "So it is no great thing to give up what little I have for some whose well-being I...someone I care about," he amended, his cheeks tinged with pink. "You are an Alchemist and Potioneer, the like of which I can only aspire to one day become. You are brave, powerful, cunning, and relentless – as a true Champion should be. You have come this far by your own power, not by power and skills lent from others."

Much unlike him, whose worth was wholly dependent on what others had given him.

Without Sokaris' aid, he would have had nothing to live for after his first year.

Without Zelkova, he would be dead a hundred times over, and wouldn't have unlocked how to use the elements.

Without Luna, he would have broken down, becoming just another emotionless wreck.

Without Budge, he wasn't fit to be a Champion.

She – Rachelle Lestrange – had made it this far on her own, under her own power, mastering the arts of the Eltnam, like alchemy, potions, mind partition, thought acceleration and such _without the benefit of instruction_.

So instead of trying to be something he wasn't, he would do what he could, exploring the island, gaining what knowledge he could of it and doing his best, which was all Sokaris had asked of him.

Victory he would leave to someone more deserving – someone like Lestrange, who had nearly died because he had foolishly overestimated his abilities. Who was far more an Alchemist that he would likely ever be.

"If I accepted your aid," she replied after a while, "would zat not simply be accepting power and skill lent from another?"

Shinji made a complicated expression...

What she said was true, but...

"Perhaps a trade?" she suggested. "Equivalent exchange is at ze 'eart of alchemy, after all."

"...I think I can live with that," the boy said, closing his eyes.

"Zen tell me, vat would you like?"

"What could you offer?" he asked, wanting to know what she was willing to part with.

"If you vould like, I could offer ze recipe for ze potion I invented with Sondrol," the petite blonde suggested. "Or perhaps a few potions for 'ealing and 'arm. I could also show you ze basics of a skill I possess, but it vill take time to master."

"…what skill?"

"I believe it is called Thought Acceleration."

Shinji's eyes lit up at this.

"Then…thought acceleration, if you please?" the boy asked, his voice almost reverent. If…if he could find a way to restore his partition, or gain a new one, then coupled with his eyes…well, no one would be able to say that he didn't have the tools an Alchemist of Atlas needed.

'… _maybe Sokaris will even be impressed?'_

It was unlikely but…

"If zat is vat you desire," Lestrange conceded. "Zere are only two days left before ze true competition begins. Are you certain?"

"I am."

She reached out towards him, her slim fingers sending shivers down his spine as she touched his temple, and the world faded away into a sea of memories.


End file.
